Love's Awakening (The Ballantyne Legacy Book #2): A Novel (28 page)

Peyton set aside his paper and glanced at his watch. “What’s to be done with Elspeth?”

Ellie felt a flicker of irritation. Sometimes Peyton’s plain-speaking bordered on harshness. If Da were present, he wouldn’t be so
fash
 . . .

“I don’t know what’s to be done,” Mama replied candidly. “But I’ll begin by telling you the truth. Perhaps then you can make sense of Elspeth’s coming—and our concerns about having her here.”

“But Mama, might another time be better?” Andra looked decidedly uncomfortable, as if the blame for all the trouble sat squarely on her shoulders. “You’re clearly upset—”

“Upset, yes, but trusting that God has all in hand. Besides, it’s time to tell you.” Her gaze came to rest on a far window,
and she seemed to struggle with where to begin. “You know I grew up believing I was the daughter of a blacksmith. What I didn’t realize is that my mother had long been in love with the largest landowner in York County, a man she’d been forbidden to marry. She bore his child—me—while married and a mother to Elspeth.” She paused, and everyone waited, locked in silence. “I had an especially close relationship with the Greathouse daughters, who lived down the lane at the family estate, Hope Rising.”

“Greathouse?” Peyton leaned forward. “Are you telling us you’re a Greathouse, as in the Philadelphia Greathouses?”

“Only by half. An illegitimate daughter hardly qualifies, though I did arrive in Philadelphia on account of them.”

“So you learned of your parentage later?” Ansel’s question was quiet, so at odds with Peyton’s gruffness.

At Mama’s nod, Andra asked, “What has this to do with Elspeth?”

“Elspeth and I were never close, despite our nearness in age. She seemed to resent my relationship with the Greathouses, and in hindsight I don’t blame her. Perhaps she knew the true nature of things and saw through their preferential treatment. Later, like our mother, Elspeth came of age and had a child by the Greathouse heir.”

“’Tis common enough,” Peyton murmured, “though it seems odd happening twice in the same family.”

Mama continued, clearly reluctant. “We named him Jon and kept his parentage a secret.”

“Jon?” Andra interjected. “Was that the baby who died?”

“Jon was just shy of his first birthday.” Mama’s voice faltered, the old memory still wounding. “I found him in his cradle one afternoon . . .”

Ellie’s gaze strayed to the doorway. No one else seemed to realize Da stood there, concern darkening his face.

“Was he ill?” ’Twas Andra again, drawing Mama out, determined to have answers.

“He didn’t seem to be. Other things had happened, all unexplained. There was a fire shortly beforehand. No one knew the cause of that either. But I feared it was Elspeth.”

“Why would she do such unspeakable things?”

At Andra’s probing, Ellie wanted to put up a hand to spare Mama from answering, when her father’s voice sounded behind them.

“Because Elspeth fancied herself in love with me and would stop at nothing to have her way.”

The ensuing silence was so heavy, Ellie felt the weight of the past overshadow them like a burial cloth. Tears glistened on Mama’s cheeks as she turned her face toward the doorway. “I’ve often hoped—prayed—over the years that Elspeth has changed, but I don’t know that she has.”

“She’s never married? Lived apart from your mother?” Peyton pulled himself to his feet to join his father at the door.

“Not that I know of.” Mama stood as well, her tea mostly untouched. “Enough of the past. ’Tis time I return to the attic. Our patient’s fever, I’m thankful to say, has broken, and he was able to take some broth in the night.”

All seemed to breathe easier at this. Andra followed at Mama’s bidding, leaving Ellie and Ansel alone at table. Peyton and Da soon left for the levee, making the morning more ordinary. Ellie heard the crunch of gravel beneath the departing horses’ hooves.

“Perhaps I should go into town,” she said, trying to be cheerful. “Have tea at Mistress Prim’s or shop for some music at the Sign of the Harp.”

Ansel leaned back in his chair and began tying his cravat. “I thought you had lessons.”

She toyed with her teacup, still struggling with the turn
of events. “Two of the girls’ parents have sent their regrets. Something about unsavory connections.”

His expression registered surprise—and understanding. “I’m sorry, El.”

“No matter. I’m sure there’s something to be done here to fill those hours.” Setting aside her napkin, she started to leave, but he reached out and shut the door, hemming her in. “I ken there’s more on your mind than the day school.”

She almost smiled, thinking how like their father he sounded.

“Something is afoot, aye?”

Biting her lip, she confessed, “I don’t know what to make of Jack Turlock.”

“A man can’t be all bad who takes pains with his little sister.”

“The same could be said of you,” she replied.

He chuckled then grew serious. “Some shun the Turlocks on account of their reputation. A few court them for their fortune. Jack is something of a riddle. He’s not quite with his clan but not quite against them.”

She looked down at her knotted hands. “I never meant to become involved so . . . deeply.” Now
that
was tantamount to confessing her feelings.

“Is Jack in love with you, El?”

Her head came up. “Jack? He never wanted me at River Hill to begin with.”

“Mayhap at first.” His eyes held hers. “The Jack Turlock at the ball made quite a different impression. But I can’t read the man’s mind, so the better question is—what are your feelings for him?”

“I—it doesn’t matter.” Her gaze faltered and returned to her lap. “He’s leaving come autumn. Selling River Hill.”

“There’s little doubt how you feel about that.”

She kept her tone steady. “Not long ago you told me feelings are often fickle, that matters of the heart can’t always be trusted. So I’ve decided to let my head rule . . .”

Her voice tapered off as she thought of all the coming year offered if she married Daniel. A husband. A home. A baby, Lord willing. The latter filled her with joy yet shook her to the core. If she couldn’t tolerate Daniel’s kiss, how would she bear his repeated embrace? Yet she would give her parents the gift of a grandson or granddaughter. Accept the life that was waiting.

Jack’s own future was in place. The West would make him a hard man, harder than he was—more like his father. She’d seen frontiersmen on the levee, trading in the mercantile, manning flatboats and keelboats and other vessels, smothered in buckskin and feathers and all manner of weapons. The West was a wild place, sure to snuff out the little bit of light she’d sensed in Jack’s soul, that tiny flicker of hope she’d held on to for his faith, his future. Jack’s path was plain. As was hers.

“I’ve decided to consider Daniel’s proposal,” she said. “He wants me to ride over and see the house site he has in mind. Of course we can’t marry till Mama’s mourning ends, sometime in January.”

There was an uneasy, prolonged silence. “El . . . don’t.”

Ansel’s voice reached out to her, but he was little more than a blur of broadcloth now, his words so low she was tempted to discard them. Getting up, she opened the door and fled to the chapel.

 28 

For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these:

“It might have been!”

J
OHN
G
REENLEAF
W
HITTIER

The confectionery, hot as Hades in the blaze of late August, continued to turn out an infinite variety of sweets that perfumed Ellie’s classroom and ensnared passersby on Water Street. Marzipan. Ladyfingers. Sugar plums. Gingerbread. Ellie inhaled the tempting aroma as she unlocked her classroom door ahead of lessons, glad to be alone. The awkwardness she’d felt during the family meeting with Elspeth minutes before hadn’t faded. Never had Ellie seen Mama so silent or Da so steely.

“You’re welcome here so long as your behavior warrants a welcome.” Her father sat in the hotel’s parlor, locking eyes with her lovely aunt, tone quiet but intense. “As I told you thirty years ago, if there’s any harm done my family while you’re in Pittsburgh, any loss to my property or business, I won’t bother bringing you before the Allegheny Court. You’ll answer to me.”

Elspeth’s gaze faltered. “Come now, Silas, those thirty years might have wrought changes you know nothing about.” She took out a costly-looking ebony fan and waved it back and forth with a gloved hand. “I’m no fool, whatever you think of me. And I didn’t come here intending you or your family harm.”

Looking on, Ellie felt a burst of sympathy for her aunt. She wanted to believe Elspeth, but her aunt’s response had sallied forth all too easily, as if she’d anticipated such an encounter and had prepared a pretty speech. She’d certainly dressed prettily. Clad in a sheer sapphire gown with black embellishments, she looked more a lady of the manor than a York smithy. Ellie found this cause for worry.

Seated beside Elspeth, Peyton spoke more kindly than she had ever heard him. “I’ll be glad to show our aunt about the city and keep her duly entertained when I’m not at the mercantile.”

Elspeth gave him a small, appreciative smile. “I promise I’ll be of little trouble.”

“I can come into Pittsburgh whenever you’re in need of company,” Andra reassured her. “With Ellie home, I have more leisure time than I used to. And I dearly love to shop.”

Ansel maintained a thoughtful silence, and as much as Ellie wanted to be of help, any offer of hospitality seemed out of place. She had only to look at Mama and be struck dumb. Seated beside Da, their mother kept her eyes on her lap, her gloved hands interlaced, a study of serenity. But Ellie sensed the roiling turmoil beneath—the hurts and losses of years past, buried deep but never forgotten.

Now, recalling every syllable of that painful exchange, she wished Da had confronted Elspeth in private. But perhaps a more public, memorable meeting was needed. It had certainly put Ellie on guard.

The afternoon wore on within the secure confines of her classroom as she and her students sewed by the open windows. Four o’clock found her intent on a particularly challenging piece of French embroidery while her students chattered and made ready to leave.

“Miles Davies is coming to collect me.” Alice Denny began folding up her handwork, giving a quick glance outside. “’Tis my favorite part of the week, as he always insists we go below for a confection before he takes me home.”

Ellie glanced up with a smile. “I think the sweet shop is a bigger draw than my day school. There are only four of you now. I’m considering stopping lessons this winter and resuming in spring.”

“Oh, you mustn’t stop!” Ruth said. All three girls turned toward Ellie, faces lit with alarm. “Winters here are dreadfully dull, and only Alice has a suitor. Whatever will we do with all our time?”

“Whatever, indeed!” Alice stood and put on her bonnet, tying the chin ribbons firmly in place. “I saw you dancing with Jonathan Stiles more than once at the Ballantyne ball. That must mean something.”

“Something? He’s a friend of my brother’s and was simply doing him a favor.”

“You’re very young,” Davina added with the mature condescension of a seventeen-year-old. “At fifteen I had my head more full of books than boys.”

“Well, I’ll soon be sixteen,” Ruth replied with a lift of her chin. “And I must say Mr. Davies is much more entertaining than any book I’ve ever read. Besides, he’s going to inherit his father’s ironworks, which Papa says is a worthy accomplishment.”

“Ironworks, indeed! I don’t give a fig about his occupation, and I doubt you do either.” A mischievous light shone
in Alice’s eyes. “The important question to ask about any man is . . . has he kissed you?”

Their high-pitched giggling stole away Ruth’s answer as Ellie saw them off. She returned to her needlework, not looking up again till long after she’d bid them goodbye. The light shifted and the room was growing dark, reminding her that Ansel would soon come to take her home . . . or Daniel.

Lately Daniel had been the shadow who darkened the doorway, especially on the days Chloe came for lessons. Ellie hadn’t missed the questions in Chloe’s eyes, nor the sadness of her expression when he appeared. Though young, she possessed the Turlock astuteness and well knew what Daniel Cameron was about. But to her credit, she hadn’t said a word.

Has he kissed you?

In the lengthening silence, Alice’s probing question seemed to linger as if meant for her instead. Not since their shared awkwardness in the garden had Daniel kissed her again. She tried to imagine it a second time. More heartfelt. Less bumbling. Perhaps even . . . passionate.

Her needle stilled. The tedious embroidery before her eyes turned to midnight-blue broadcloth and callused hands, rumpled hair and hard shoulders. In the heated traces of her imagination, it wasn’t Daniel who pressed his mouth to hers . . .

“Elinor.”

She looked up reluctantly. How she longed to hear a simple “Ellie.” She willed herself to smile, to take note of the little details she found appealing. Daniel’s thoughtful gaze. His keen mind. His good name. Elinor Cameron did sound proper. Respectable. Possible.

She stood and greeted him. “You have news, obviously. Good news.” He’d never looked so pleased.

“I wanted to share it with you first.” He removed his hat and twirled it in his hands, eyes alight. “I’ve just received word I’ve been awarded the first pressed glass patent in America.”

“Oh, Daniel!” She smiled, mirroring his delight, though she’d long been expecting it. “You—and my father—must be thrilled.” Turning, she caught up her bonnet. “We should celebrate, then. ’Tis not every day one patents something.”

“Your father has reserved a room at Benedict’s for supper tomorrow night.” Taking her elbow, he escorted her out and down the steps. “To commemorate the occasion, we’re sending the president a three-hundred-piece set of engraved glass tableware, along with an invitation to come and tour the factory.”

“President Monroe? Here in Pittsburgh?”

“There’s more.” He ushered her beyond the confectionery into bright sunlight. “We have a plan to import skilled glassmakers from Scotland and Ireland. Your father will pay the cost of their crossing and has agreed to supply free coal to heat their homes as incentive.”

Ellie looked past the boatyard and glittering Monongahela to the steep wooded precipice called Coal Hill that housed the Ballantyne mining operation. “Where will they live?”

“I’ll show you.” Turning left, they walked down Water Street, the waning sun on their backs. The huge glassworks was in plain sight, the windowpanes in its thick walls an undeniable advertisement. Behind this were a great many unoccupied lots, all Ballantyne owned. “Though the expense will be great, we hope to have houses and small gardens built for the artisans and their families right here.”

Her eyes roamed the grassy property that stretched along the street seemingly without end. She couldn’t quite grasp it—the outlay, the commitment of the workers to come so
far. But her father had never forgotten his humble beginnings and sought to give other immigrants a solid start. Though he’d had a few business mishaps, most everything he undertook was a success. This would likely prove profitable as well.

“’Tis a promising beginning, Daniel. I’ll pray all goes as planned.”

He nodded, waiting for a passing wagon before leading her across the street to the livery where his carriage was stabled. In moments they were settled atop the upholstered seat, leaving the smoke and fervor of town far behind.

“We’ve quite a bit of daylight yet. I asked your father if he’d mind if I took you to the house site. The foundation has finally been laid. It might be a good time to have a look.”

A glance at the flawless blue horizon confirmed his words, and she ignored her reluctance. “I’m sorry I’ve not been out to see the work yet. With all the rain . . .”

“The rain? All your gentleman callers, most likely.” His smile was thin. “Peyton told me that New Hope’s been overrun since the ball.”

This she couldn’t deny, though she wished Peyton had stayed silent. “I—I’ve not encouraged any of them.”

“You’ve not encouraged me,” he replied ruefully.

His bluntness made her squirm. She had to push past her dismay to answer. “I’m not one to be bold, Daniel. I like things to develop naturally, not feel . . . forced.”

“Do you feel forced, then?”

Misery locked her throat and stole away her reply.

I feel
. . .
nothing.

His hands tightened on the reins. “I simply want to know if there’s anyone else. I’d hoped, to be honest, to announce more than the patent at Benedict’s tomorrow night.”

Fixing her eyes on the fading foliage along the dusty road,
she felt a sinking she couldn’t deny. Did Daniel genuinely view her as little more than a business decision, a partnership not unlike the one he’d just forged with her father? If so, her yearning heart craved far more than he was capable of.

“There’s no one else, Daniel.” She didn’t lie. Jack was as far from her reach as the North Star. She was simply guilty of a regrettable infatuation that would fade in time. “I simply want to be certain of so lasting a commitment.”

“I’ll take you home, then.”

The lovely afternoon turned joyless. They rode in prickly silence all the way to New Hope, Daniel staring straight ahead, his high mood a memory. Alighting from the carriage, she said goodbye, but he simply escorted her to the porch and took his leave without another word.

Mari met her at the door, taking her shawl and bonnet. “Your mother is in the garden, Miss Elinor. And your sister has gone out with your aunt, if you’re wondering.”

Ellie thanked her, craving the solace of the music room. The shutters were open, letting in light, the quiet promising peace. But for the mayhem in her heart. She sat down by her harp, wishing Ansel was near. After riffling through the music on the mahogany stand, she lingered on the piece they’d played at the ball. Near perfection, her father said afterward.

She’d been warmed by the enthusiastic applause that night, though in truth she only cared for one accolade. She’d looked up once while they played—a liberty that had nearly cost her her place—to find Jack listening as intently as Chloe. In that fleeting moment, her heart had overflowed, and she tucked the moment away to be savored in solitude.

Remembering, she let her fingers retrace each note, playing softly but no less poignantly, determined to ease her soreness over spoiling Daniel’s delight. She tried to think of mundane
matters like what she’d wear to Benedict’s for the celebratory supper on the morrow.

But all she wanted was to return to River Hill.