Unbroken Promises of the Heart: (Promises of the Heart Book 2)

by Valerie Loveless

  “It’s small! Does that mean it’s not as good?”

  “Of course not. Its small because it’s better. It still weighs forty pounds. It’s very well constructed, and it’s the newest model.”

  “How much?”

  “Only eighty dollars.”

  “Eighty dollars?” Mary gasped. “I must be a saint.”

  “I believe you are! But you are getting a bargain. It was one hundred dollars a few months ago. We don’t have a high demand for them.” Gladys smiled. “Would you like Mr. Willis to deliver it to her? He’s very good at setting them up and teaching basic usage.”

  “Oh, yes, she’ll need it. It looks so complicated,” Mary said. She pushed a button that threw a little metal arm up to the paper, then yanked her hand away as though it might bite her. The machine was all black and had circular silver buttons. She couldn’t understand how all the hundreds of parts worked.

  “Because you are a dear friend, business partner with your hats, and customer, I will throw in a box of paper.” Gladys smiled before she rushed over to help another customer.

  As is often the case in love, someone may get hurt, even in true love like John and Lavender’s. We want to hope for true love of our own, but stories like theirs makes us realize that love comes at a risk. We risk the pain and suffering of losing true love in order to find it. In order to find true love, we must be vulnerable and open to the idea of it.

  “What is this?” Mary asked as she put down the small sheet of paper with scribbles on it.

  “I wish you didn’t read that.” Liz frowned. “I’m thinking of writing an apology to my readers for breaking up John and Lavender and explaining how love really works, and why I had to do it, but I just can’t get it right. That is the fourth draft I’ve started.”

  Mary sighed. “Liz, you mustn’t be so worried.”

  “I—I’m trying not to be! You said my readers will revolt,” Liz said through a growing sob.

  “Oh dear,” Mary exclaimed, “you are quite weepy lately.” Mary put a sympathetic arm around her friend.

  “You don’t even care that I care about my readers!” Liz sobbed some more. “I just want them to stay my fans. Be my friends. Not stop me in the . . . the . . . streets and tell me I’m stupid!”

  “Stupid? Who told you you’re stupid? They will get a fist full of Mary!”

  Liz stopped sobbing as hard as before and whimpered, “Well, no one, but that’s how they make me feel.”

  “You really are just hysterical right now. It’s not as bad as you feel it is. I promise.” Mary wrapped her arm more tightly around Liz and let her sob a few minutes more. Mary rolled her eyes slightly when Liz wasn’t looking. When she did look at Mary, Mary gave her a warm smile.

  “Now, let’s shake off the hysterics of being with child and focus on what’s good.”

  “Nothing is good. Everything is so hard.” Liz pouted. Luckily for Mary there was a knock on the door that prevented Liz from sobbing all over again and trying Mary’s patience.

  “Oh, I wonder who that is. Maybe you should get it,” Mary said excitedly.

  “I’m a mess. I must be all red and blotchy. Do you mind getting it?”

  “No.” Mary got up and opened the door. It was Mr. Willis, as expected, holding a crate. “Mr. Willis, please come in. Look, Liz, Mr. Willis has something for you!”

  “What is it?” Liz said as she remained pouting on the sofa.

  “Well, come and look,” Mr. Willis said. “A very good friend of yours and very valued customer of mine bought you this,” he said as he winked at Mary. He set the crate down on the table and lifted the lid. He proceeded to wipe his hands on his apron and then pull out the typewriter and set it next to the crate.

  “What is it?” Liz said, eyebrows bunched in apprehension.

  “It’s a typewriter!” Mary squealed. “I bought you a typewriter!”

  Liz smiled slightly but still looked very confused. “But I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”

  “Of course you don’t!” Mary snapped. “Mr. Willis is going to teach you. Also, Harriet knows how to use one, so she can help if needed.”

  “It’s very simple,” Mr. Willis began. He put a piece of paper through the top and rolled a knob in his fingers, and the paper went through a cylinder as it turned. “Now, all you have to do is push the buttons corresponding with the desired letter or symbol.”

  Liz looked at the machine much the same way Mary did at the store, as though one wrong move and it would snap its metal jaws at her. She pushed the button for L. A metal rod popped up and struck the paper, leaving a lowercase L. Liz jumped slightly and then pushed the buttons for I, Z, and B.

  “Oh. I was about to type Black,” she chuckled nervously.

  “No problem. Just cross it out later. Also, use the shift key to do an uppercase letter, and you must use the space bar between words. If you want a new paragraph, then use this key.”

  Liz admired the round keys. They were quite lovely and shiny. She had to admit it was an impressive machine, even though it scared her.

  “Harriet said that she used to be very slow, but now she can type faster than she could ever write. Imagine being able to write three or four times the amount in one day. Think of the time you would save!”

  Liz began to see why Mary had spent probably her whole savings on this contraption. She was trying to help her spend less time writing. Liz felt the emotions of gratitude and love swell so fast inside of her that they came out as sobs. Mr. Willis looked shocked and concerned. Mary furrowed her brow in confusion.

  “Liz, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to help you!”

  “I—know! Thank you.” Liz sobbed again.

  “Then why are you upset?”

  Liz simply shook her head no and buried her face in Mary’s shoulder.

  “Should I?” Mr. Willis pointed toward the door. Mary nodded affirmatively.

  “Thank you, Mr. Willis,” Mary said as Mr. Willis tipped his hat on his way out the door.

  Later that day Liz paced her small living room alone, looking occasionally at the intimidating typing machine. She had tried to write a few lines. It was a disaster.

  JJohn’sd wast followinhg the shipp’/ as closely ads he couldd wirhouy arroising ssuspicscion,.

  Liz couldn’t decide what to do. It had taken her five minutes to write the most atrocious sentence ever conceived. The typewriter was supposed to help her write faster, but all it was accomplishing was making her frustrated and slowing her down considerably. With resolve, she sat down and intended to push the typewriter aside and carry on the old way, with pen and ink, but the machine was so heavy she could not even push it across the table. With a grunt of force, she was able to shift it a few inches.

  “Where is Peter?” Liz cried. It was 8:30 pm and he still had not come home. Liz grabbed her pen and ink and a stack of paper and moved to the kitchen table. She began writing with a fury that created lines and ink blobs all over her usually clean manuscript.

  John followed the Lily the best he could without detection. During the day he stayed over the horizon. At night he kept all lights off his boat. If the pirate ship spotted him during the day, it would only end in him being boarded and pirated. Neither Morose nor Lavender had any knowledge of the small sailboat John bought off a traveler at the dock right after Morose and Lavender sailed off. He had a little time to convince Pauly to stow away on the Lily before they left the town. The deal was that Pauly would stow away, intending to be caught, and hoping that they would allow him to stay on board to look after Lavender as a trusted family friend. Whenever they docked or went ashore, Pauly would stash a note under a rock, in a pub, or under the dock. That was the plan anyway. It would seem Pauly had not had a chance to go ashore yet.

  John had no idea what was happening on that ship. He didn’t want to know. He shuddered as hi
s mind drifted momentarily to Lavender giving Morose the affection she had shared only with him before.

  Day after day, John sailed in bitter solitude, wishing only for the companionship of his beloved.

  “Exactly like me!” Liz cried as she wrote the words on the page.

  Just then she heard a rustling at the door. Peter unlocked the door and entered quietly. He looked up in surprise when he saw Liz standing in the entryway waiting for him.

  “Evening,” he said warmly.

  “Not ‘evening’!” Liz barked.

  Peter’s warm face melted into confusion. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “No! I am not!”

  “What’s wrong?” he pleaded as he tried to take Liz into his arms, but she pushed him away.

  “I have been alone. All week. I needed help with that stupid thing.” Liz violently pointed toward the typewriter. “And there was no one here to help me. I have not seen you for weeks, Peter!”

  “That’s not true!” He raised his voice more than Liz had ever heard. It made her eyes well with tears. “I see you every night!”

  “Every night? Peter, are you mad? You come home, get ready for bed, and quickly fall asleep. That is not seeing you.”

  Peter dropped his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’ve been so busy at work.”

  “Peter, what time does the bank close?”

  “It closes at five, but I have duties that have to happen after the doors close. All the money must be counted and put away for the evening. All the numbers must balance. It can take time.”

  “Peter, how long will this go on? I don’t know that I want you working at the bank anymore if I will never see you.”

  “I don’t know. Not much longer, I hope.” Peter sighed heavily and took Liz into his arms. “I’m trying to make something of myself. It’s something I need to do.”

  “You are a very successful banker,” Liz cried softly.

  “No, I am not a banker, really. I mostly do simple transactions. I’m a disposable employee. I need something that will make me indispensable.”

  “Very well,” Liz said, ashamed of her previous behavior and frustration. “I will try to be more patient.” She snuggled into Peter. He felt so safe and warm.

  “Come now. Let’s get to bed. I am exhausted.” Peter went to move, but Liz felt heavy in his arms and did not stir. “Liz?” he said as he looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed. He tried to move her again, and this time she jumped a little and inhaled sharply.

  “Huh? I was asleep.” She perked up and released herself from Peter’s arms.

  “Sweet wife, how can you possibly fall asleep standing up?”

  Liz started up the stairs. “I’m very tired, obviously.” Only slightly turning her head, she lumbered up the steps as Peter laughed quietly to himself.

  John pushed the little fishing boat as fast as it could go. It had been more difficult to keep up with the Lily than he had anticipated. He had become tanned and his hair bleached from the sun. His beard had grown to lengths he never let it reach before. He was looking like the scallywags he had been pursuing all these weeks.

  As the sun began to set and the rim was about to touch the water, John noticed a glint bobbing up and down in the water. A bottle perhaps. Pirates were known for littering the water with their refuse, and John tried to take notice of all of it. He was waiting for a special message—a message from Pauly. John dropped anchor and dove into the darkening waters. He swam as hard as he could to the glittering object. It was a bottle, and it was corked because it had a small paper inside.

  This would not have been an easy task for Pauly. He would be watched all the time. How had he acquired the pen and ink to write a message and then toss it over with no one knowing? He was a crafty old bird that John loved.

  John swam back to his ship with his treasure in tow. As soon as he climbed back aboard, he wasted no time breaking the bottle open on some rigging. The little paper inside fell to the deck, and John picked it up and unrolled it.

  Lavy, good for now. Morose claims saved by mermaid before drowning. If all these pirates know a danged thing, they say search where he drowned. Be careful. Sounds like poppycock.

  It was very little to go off. John already knew that Morose claimed he was rescued by a mermaid and some other worldly, miraculous force had changed him. He was like a new man. It was as if he had aged backwards fifteen years, maybe more. John knew he must bite the bullet and leave the Lily and go back to Europe’s waters, where Morose drowned. It was the only way he could get to the bottom of what really happened to Morose and how he could help Lavender out of her stupor.

  John dove into the dark blue water and swam downward until his lungs burned so badly that he feared he would drown. Then he turned around and headed back up. Gasping for air as his face broke the surface of the water, he had very little energy left for the day after making dozens of these dives already. Not once did he see any kind of sea creature that resembled a mermaid. He swam back toward his ship with heavy limbs, and with many pains, he climbed up the ladder, falling to the deck. As he closed his eyes, he immediately dreamed of Lavender, her lovely face, her kind voice, her graceful curves. Upon waking he was reminded that she was gone, quite possibly forever, and he hated it. Rising up from his slumbering place, he stumbled to his cabin. Inside he opened a drawer with the note that Pauly had finally left him in an empty bottle. He read it every day, hoping it would give him some new clue.

  John had anchored his boat off the shore where he believed the fateful night happened when his steamship had gone down, taking him with it as he was tangled in debris. Morose came to his rescue, but he too became entangled in the same debris, which was his demise—until he returned—unfathomably alive.

  He had been watching and waiting for days. Perhaps he was not in the right place. How does one find mermaids? In all of John’s years on the sea and traveling the world, he had never once heard about a serious sighting of them. But tonight, as he slept, he had a vision of Morose being pulled down into the sea and seeing a light as he was about to die.

  Die! John thought. That’s the key! If he didn’t find the creature that saved Morose and likely had something to do with bewitching his love, then he might as well die.

  John prepared himself for a special dive. He tied a knife around his thigh and waterproofed a compass full of matches with beeswax, which he put around his neck. He put on his boots and a jacket and then dove into sea. He hit the water gracefully and cut through the waves. He powered his way down with difficulty, wearing the bulky clothes and boots. Soon, he was beyond the depth he had ever gone before, and his head registered the pressure of the water above him. But he kept swimming down, even though he would shortly be out of air. He stopped when he had no air, and his body began to fight against his mind, urging him to go back up. Steadying his mind, he floated and fought the urge to take in a breath. Just as he began to lose consciousness, a bright light streamed toward him. The light turned into a large bubble that surrounded his face. He dared to take a breath. He gasped and inhaled the life-giving air again and again. As he inhaled and his vision began to clear, a face entered the bubble of air. It looked like a girl but had strange features. Her eyes were slightly farther apart than was common. They were black and darted more quickly than expected. Her skin was greenish gray and pale. John smiled. He had found her. She was real. She removed her face from the bubble and tried to push John toward the surface by his feet. John rejected her attempts at returning him to his dimension and tried to swim back down to her. She tried again and again to pull him to the surface by grabbing his hands or his feet. Finally, she put her face back in the bubble looking angry.

  “Help me,” John said.

  “No!” she screeched in an inhuman high-pitched tone.

  “Please, I need your help.”

  Looking even more displeased, she made a high-pi
tched noise that caused John to black out quickly.

  John awoke to sounds of waves crashing. He looked around but couldn’t see much. It was very dark. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he found himself in a cave. The waves were coming from outside. This cave had a pool that John supposed was how the mermaid had swum in and placed him on the rocky outcropping. There was no discernible way in or out except a hole in the roof out of reach and the pool of seawater. John normally would have been quite intrigued, or disturbed by what had transpired, but he felt excitement and joy. Surely this was how Morose had survived. The same kind of creature had saved him, perhaps even the very same individual creature. Now he just had to hope it would come back and speak with him some more and then let him go.

  John watched the sun rise and fall. He was still trapped inside of the cave. He thought he would have a good chance if he swam down into the pool if he could find a way out. But he didn’t want to leave. He wanted that creature to come back for him. The cave was getting dark again. John wished he had some wood for a fire. He searched the cave while he had daylight and found only footprints in some soft, loose sand near the pool. Morose, he guessed, unless this mermaid made it a habit to rescue men and then trap them in this cavernous prison.

  Finally, as the moon rose above the hole in the cave’s roof and illuminated the water in the pool, a head broke the surface. She only revealed her dark eyes as she slipped closer to the edge of the pool.

  “Hello, don’t be afraid. I am harmless. I’ve been looking for you. Will you speak with me?” John kneeled by the side of the pool.

  The mermaid slowly lifted the rest of her head above the water and stopped as the water line reached her shoulders. She blinked a few times.

  “I met a man like you before,” she said quietly. Her voice was meek and singsong.