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

  “Miss Ballantyne, I believe.”

  “I’ve come to see Chloe.”

  “Chloe is ill.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie saw a sudden movement. Wade had come into the hall, coatless and dressed as casually as Jack had once been, driving home his memory. The band of pain around her heart tightened. “I’d still like to see her.”

  “Another day, perhaps.”

  “Another day might be too late.” Her fleeting time with Jack had taught her that. Never again would she take time, a life, for granted.

  “Are you insisting, then?” Crossing her arms, Isabel withered Ellie with a look. “Of all the impudent, unladylike—”

  Clutching her skirts, Ellie did the unthinkable and pushed past Isabel, anguish propelling her up the unfamiliar staircase. Isabel’s shouts to stop only fueled her steps. At the very top, a great many closed doors seemed to mock her impulsiveness. Which was Chloe’s? Hearing a noise, she whirled round to find Wade taking the stairs two at a time in her wake. To escort her out by force?

  The heft of him, his flinty expression, stole her courage. She’d beg if she had to. But he simply stepped around her and walked to a far door before thrusting it open. Ellie rushed toward it, hearing Isabel call for the housekeeper below. Trembling, distrustful of Wade, she all but slammed the door and slid the bolt into place. Wade’s footfalls faded, but his ensuing argument with his mother was far harder to dismiss.

  Behind her, Chloe lay on the bed, her face lacking any color, her hair shorn short. Because of a fever? Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Ellie expected to see the usual clutter left by a physician—opaque bottles and bloodletting devices—but the nearest table was bare save a guttered candle and an untouched cup of tea. No doctor . . . Why?

  Dropping to her knees by the bed, she reached for Chloe’s still hand. “Chloe, ’tis only me. Ben sent a note round by Sol. I-I didn’t realize you’ve been teaching him to read and write.” The simple, misspelled words were indelibly penned in her heart and head, evidence of a boy’s heartfelt affection and concern. “I’m so proud of you.”

  To her relief, the limp fingers gave the barest squeeze.

  “I heard about River Hill.” Ellie kept her voice soft, afraid of taxing Chloe with too much talk. “Sol said it’s yours now.”

  Chloe’s eyes fluttered open. “I want to go . . . be with Jack . . . I miss him so.”

  Not only you, Chloe.

  The sorrow of the moment cut deep. How was it that she had so much—a loving family, a good name, a secure home—and Chloe had so little? Why had Chloe lost the one thing that mattered most?

  Ellie worked to keep her voice even and hopeful. “When you’re better, we can continue lessons and plant the garden like we planned—make it pretty again. We’ll even go fishing.”

  Cool fingers caressed her damp cheek. “Say a prayer for me, Miss Ellie . . . Say some Scripture.” Chloe’s eyes closed again. “Too tired to talk . . .”

  A noise at the door reminded Ellie she was an unwelcome guest. She’d run out of time. Words. Hope. Chloe was holding on to life by a slender thread, one frayed by things too hard for a girlish heart to hold.

  “Then just listen, Chloe love.” Though she felt mired in heartache, a beloved Scots Psalm rose above her sorrow. Her father’s deep voice returned to her, undergirding her much as his arms had done in the chill of the chapel when she’d learned of Jack’s fate, helping her speak words of comfort and truth. “‘The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie, in pastures green he leadeth me the quiet waters by . . .’”

  In the stillness of the unfamiliar room, the Lord seemed near.

  And that was enough.

  32

  My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.

  JOB 30:31

  Ellie faced Isabel in the foyer and found that the woman was regarding her with even more hostility than before. She’d earned it, she guessed, barging upstairs like she’d done. For a few breathless moments, Ellie tried to fathom that this was Jack’s mother, a woman who might have been her mother-in-law. But she could find no hint of her beloved in this irate woman who was clearly desirous of her leaving.

  “Chloe is in dire need of a physician. I fear she’s more ill than you might think.” Ellie looked past Isabel to Wade. But Wade was regarding her in an unnerving, half-amused way, as if she was merely providing him an afternoon’s entertainment. She renewed her plea, flushed and perspiring beneath her heavy cape. “Dr. Brunot will come as soon as possible, I’m sure—”

  “I don’t remember you having any medical background, Miss Ballantyne, only a simple day school.” Isabel gripped the newel post of the staircase. “And I’m insulted that you force your way into my house, uninvited, and dictate what I should do with my daughter.” She motioned for the housekeeper to open the front door. “Chloe will mend. Besides, I’ll not let Brunot set foot on this property, given his sentiments.”

  His sentiments? The words were coated with such derision there was no mistaking their meaning. “Then send for Phipps or Alexander,” Ellie retorted. “They share your own misguided views, if I’m not mistaken.”

  At this Wade smirked. Phipps and Alexander were proslavery physicians, both outspoken opponents of Brunot. Ellie couldn’t have fueled Isabel’s ire more if she’d set fire to her.

  “Horse doctors, the both of them!” Isabel spat. “As for you, Elinor Ballantyne, I’ll thank you not to show your face here again or bestow any more of your unwanted advice.”

  Ellie ached to have the last word, then gave way. Shaking, she hurried out, sensing the deeper danger of encountering Henry Turlock the longer she tarried. Never had she been so glad to flee a place, yet she felt brutally torn as she got into the waiting coach.

  All the way home she prayed, so undone she felt she was on the brink of falling ill herself. She tried desperately to quiet her thoughts, but the sound of Peyton’s raised voice sent her spinning as she set foot in the house. It carried through the open study doorway into the foyer, heated and dismayed. Ansel spoke next, his voice equally aggrieved. Were they sparring again?

  Intent on her room, Ellie’s foot touched the first step when Andra’s voice stopped her cold. “Elinor, where have you been?”

  “Broad Oak,” she confessed, her voice thick from weeping.

  “Broad Oak?” The revulsion in Andra’s tone cut her. “Why?”

  “Chloe is ill.”

  Peyton appeared and motioned them both into the study, out of the maids’ hearing, and shut the door. Ellie was relieved to find Ansel in the shadows. “El, are you all right?”

  She could only stare at him in mute appeal, emotion closing her throat.

  “You didn’t see Brunot at Broad Oak, I suppose.” At the shake of her head, he ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “I’m afraid he’s missing. Mrs. Brunot says he hasn’t been seen or heard from since leaving for a medical call out Braddock’s Road two days past.”

  Peyton shrugged. “He’s likely attending a birth or death at some far-flung farm for all we know.”

  “Well, I don’t have a good feeling about it,” Ansel replied.

  “Nor do I.” Andra walked to a window, giving Peyton a sidelong glance. “And I’m tired of you making light of everything, including the equally disturbing matter of Aunt Elspeth’s latest admirer.”

  Peyton tugged nonchalantly on the bell cord. “She has many admirers, most of them widowers.”

  “And one most decidedly not,” Andra shot back, eyeing him fiercely.

  “Henry Turlock’s peccadilloes are well known.”

  “That’s not the point. I lay the blame at your door for introducing them.”

  “I didn’t introduce them. Wade did.”

  “So Wade had already made Elspeth’s acquaintance?”

  “Aye, at the theater.”

  Ellie stepped between them, hoping to quell the quarrel. “Where are Da and Mama?”

/>   “Dining with friends in town,” Andra told her.

  Ellie sank into a chair by the glowing hearth, wanting to curl up into a little ball and go to sleep. Peyton and Andra’s arguing stilled while Gwyn served tea, only to resume the moment she went out again. Resisting the urge to cover her ears, Ellie looked toward Ansel.

  He took a seat beside her, sympathy in his eyes. “You didn’t receive a warm welcome at Broad Oak, I take it.”

  “I didn’t expect one.” Isabel’s barbs still clung to her, bitter and hurtful, but it was Chloe she was most concerned about. “Please pray for Chloe. She’s very ill and heartsick over—” She stumbled on Jack’s name. She hadn’t spoken it aloud since the tragedy. “Isabel won’t send for a doctor. I mentioned Brunot and she flatly refused.”

  “We can’t force a physician on them, but we’ll pray Chloe weathers this without one.” Though his words were reassuring, the alarm in his eyes held fast. “As for Brunot, he didn’t come last night as planned, and he’s not one to miss a meeting. We have four friends needing transport north.”

  She felt a shiver of alarm yet clung to Peyton’s assumption that the doctor was simply making a prolonged call. “You’ll go in his stead then.”

  “Aye, I’ll go—and gladly. But it doesn’t help explain his absence.”

  “Be careful.” Her soft words were almost lost amidst the swell of Andra’s and Peyton’s voices across the room. “I suppose you’ll take the newly refitted coach—the one like Dr. Brunot’s.” At his nod, she pushed past her exhaustion. “Let me go with you—you’ll need a ruse. You can’t go driving an empty vehicle about the county and arouse suspicion.”

  “I’m hoping no one will notice.”

  “I’ll say I’m visiting Harmony Grove. Mama and I do have friends there.”

  “El, it’s too risky.”

  “’Tis far less so with me as a passenger, surely.”

  He studied her, his gaze heavy with indecision.

  “Please,” she urged, wanting to help, wishing Andra and Peyton would stop their wrangling. Lowering her voice, she asked, “What is all this about Aunt Elspeth?”

  “Elspeth seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Henry Turlock of late. A dangerous liaison, Da says.”

  Dangerous seemed an understatement. ’Twas shocking. Frightening. “I recall seeing him at Benedict’s,” she said, remembering how he’d given Elspeth a lingering look. But in truth, her striking aunt garnered many admiring glances wherever she went.

  “We can do little about Elspeth, but we can pray for Chloe and manage the fugitives as best we can.” Ansel stood and looked down at her, his reluctance plain. “We’ll delay a while longer in hopes Brunot will return. But we’ll soon need to act. More fugitives are waiting to cross the river.”

  I’m in love with you. I’ve long been in love with you. Do you believe me?

  Ellie’s needle slipped. Drew blood. A scarlet drop fell onto the ivory cloth she was embroidering and melted into it, soiling the lovely fabric. ’Twas Mama’s Christmas gift, but she didn’t feel so much as a flicker of dismay. Her heart was not in her task. It felt as frozen as the Allegheny outside her window, ice-hardened in the fist of winter. Sometimes she doubted it would ever thaw or see spring.

  A month had passed since she’d heard of Jack’s death, a fortnight since she’d seen Chloe at Broad Oak. She seemed to watch the goings-on around her like a wax figure or a spectator viewing a play, with little interaction or interest.

  Somehow she’d made the trip to Harmony Grove with Ansel more than once, despite Da’s concerns. He’d spoken to her about reopening the day school sooner than planned, but she doubted she’d do so even come spring. That seemed a part of her past, buried with Jack.

  As Christmas neared, Mama went about singing hymns and keeping the small staff busy with preparations. Nollaig Beag, or Little Christmas, was not to be missed, despite the pall of mourning. Mamie was immersed in the kitchen, baking an abundance of Yule bread and black bun, the fragrance rivaling the confectionery on Water Street. Swaths of holly and berries and greenery were wound round the stair banister by Mari and Gwyn, every mantel adorned with countless candles. All wished for wintry weather. Christmas without snow is poor fare, Da always said.

  Ellie tried to fasten her thoughts on the things that had brought such pleasure in years past, but the darkness inside her was too deep. Her every thought seemed to be one unending prayer. For Chloe. Dr. Brunot, still missing. The fugitives in their care. Aunt Elspeth.

  “Ellie?”

  Mama came into the parlor and shut the door, the concern in her eyes making Ellie’s heart leap with renewed alarm. “Sol is here to see you. I asked him to wait in your father’s study. But if you’d rather, I can see why he’s come in your stead.”

  Ellie’s hurry to the door was her answer. ’Twas the finest Christmas gift imaginable to have Chloe well again. Had he come all this way to tell her on such a bitter, windy day? Perhaps deliver a note from Chloe herself? Her spirits lightened at the very thought.

  As Mama looked on, she crossed the foyer and entered the study, leaving the door open in her haste. Sol stood facing the fire, shoulders bowed. Slowly he turned round.

  Ellie’s hopes collapsed at first glance. The grave look on his face negated any glad news, and she was cast back to the shattering moment she’d heard about Jack. Unable to give a greeting, she sought the nearest chair.

  “I’m afraid I don’t bring much other than bad tidings here lately, Miz Ellie. But I figured you’d want to know straightaway. It’s about Miz Chloe . . .” He struggled for control, his eyes dark pools. “She was buried at Broad Oak yesterday.”

  Ellie stared at him, unable to take it in. Unwilling.

  Heartache upon heartache.

  “It’s said she went real peaceful-like.” A tear glazed his wrinkled cheek. “Sally—Ben’s granny—was with her when she passed.”

  Sally . . . one of Broad Oak’s slaves. The irony was not lost on Ellie. Despite the sickening swirl of the room, she felt deeply thankful it was Sally who’d been with Chloe. Though they’d never met, she sensed Sally was a believer. ’Twas only fitting that Chloe was ushered into the presence of the King by one who knew Him well.

  “She told Sally—” Sol looked away, the hat in his hands clenched tight. “At the last Miz Chloe told Sally that she saw somebody waitin’.”

  Her voice, when it finally came, sounded far-off and fragile. “Somebody?”

  “Aye. Mister Jack.”

  Jack.

  And Jesus.

  The church bell seemed to clang more than peal this winter’s morn as the congregants hurried inside First Presbyterian to escape the chill, heads down in the sleet-studded wind. All were shoulder to shoulder in the Ballantyne pew save Andra, who remained at home nursing a cold, her place conspicuously empty. Behind them sat the Camerons—and a guest. Ellie had seen them in the narthex moments before and still felt riddled with surprise. Whoever this woman was, she was garnering a great deal of attention in her royal purple cape and bonnet, her ebony hair as dark as Ellie’s own.

  Peyton leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Isn’t that Penelope Cameron, the cousin from Westmoreland County?”

  Penelope, Daniel’s very marriageable cousin? Unsure, Ellie turned her attention to Reverend Herron instead. As the service progressed, she grew sleepy, even nodded off, her bonnet grazing the solid shoulder of her father. He looked down at her, concern darkening his gaze.

  There were to be no more trips with Ansel to Harmony Grove, he’d told her gently that morning. She was to remain at home and recover from the shock of the last weeks within New Hope’s walls. Hearing it, she felt a little like an exotic hothouse plant. No one seemed to understand that no matter what she did—or didn’t do—her sadness failed to ebb. It rimmed her heart, cold and dark, growing deeper still.

  She stood with the congregation as a Scots Psalter was sung, the one she’d spoken to Chloe at the last. Despite its beauty, every famil
iar note seemed barbed. She blinked back tears, surprised they always surfaced willfully, without warning.

  Heads bowed for the benediction. She prayed for healing. Peace. Into the ensuing quiet crept an odd sensation—a subtle shaking. The hallowed space bore a faint rumble of thunder, followed by a great rousing roll of it. The kirk’s very foundation seemed to heave. Reverend Herron’s unfinished prayer hung in the air as a second pew-shaking boom rent the room, and several elders stood. The Sabbath calm turned chaotic as people began abandoning pews and rushing for doors, reminding Ellie of the spring storm and Jack and riding into Pittsburgh amidst all the mayhem.

  She found herself on Peyton’s arm as he hurried her and Mama to the coach, every eye drawn east. Another rumble sent the horses bolting, almost tumbling the coachman from his seat. With Ansel’s help, he brought the horses round, and they finally left the churchyard and started out of town.

  Ellie felt the squeeze of Mama’s gloved hand and was thankful for Ansel’s calm as he took a seat opposite them. “Da and Peyton and a few constables are going to inquire about the trouble.” He opened a shutter to better see the landscape. “It seems to be coming from Broad Oak’s direction. I heard more of their slaves disappeared last week.”

  “Still no word of Dr. Brunot?” Ellie asked.

  Ansel frowned and shook his head. “None, I’m afraid. He’s been gone long enough to start an investigation, but the sheriff is saying little so far.”

  They were silent the rest of the way home, jarred twice more by near-deafening explosions, the horses frantic again. But once they’d shed their wraps and joined Andra in the parlor, all seemed to settle.

  Cocooned in a quilt near the fire, her nose reddened by cold, Andra peppered them with questions before they’d shut the door. “What on earth is happening out there? Mamie said it’s rattling all the china in the pantry and upsetting every horse in the stables.”