The Keeper of Her Heart Page 6

  Reaching out, Minnie squeezed her hand. “What if? Can you still live ’ow you want, just the two of you?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “Do you regret marryin’ ’im then?” Minnie asked, picking up her teacup again.

  “Not for a moment.” And Ada meant it. Even during those hours when she’d been so far gone in her grief she didn’t think she would ever find her way back out, she hadn’t felt regret at marrying Ned.

  Minnie took a sip. “’Ave you told ’im that?”

  The question caught Ada by surprise before it pierced straight through her anguish. “No, I haven’t,” she said, shaking her head. “But doesn’t he already know how I feel about him?”

  “’E may and ’e may not.” Her friend set the teacup in its saucer. Recently Ada had saved enough to get a matching set of four. “I’ve come to learn a man takes it ’ard when ’is woman is distressed. They’re wantin’ to protect us and they ’ate it when they can’t.”

  Was that how Ned felt? Her own mourning had felt too thick and heavy to see anyone else’s. Remorse coursed through her at the realization she hadn’t thought to ask how her husband might be suffering.

  A longing to speak to him, in the way they used to and not in the stilted conversations of the past week, filled her to distraction. There were still two hours to go before he came home, though, and that was if he arrived on time. He’d stayed a little later than usual the past two nights to finish a large order.

  “I’ll tell him tonight,” she resolved aloud. And something akin to anticipation flickered faintly inside her for the first time all week.

  • • •

  Having been on her feet longer than she had in seven days, Ada fell asleep while waiting for Ned. She woke to darkness. A peek inside the parlor showed her that Ned had returned and was sleeping himself. She would have to wait to talk to him tomorrow morning.

  However, when she woke the next day, Ned was already gone. Disappointed, she dressed and made herself breakfast. Since Minnie had already done the cleaning, Ada decided to tackle the mending basket. It was one skill she’d taken up with ease, having been tutored by her mother at a young age on how to effectively wield a needle and thread. Instead of embroidery, though, her stitching projects these days were patching holes in Ned’s trousers and darning socks.

  She worked in the parlor beside the open window. It felt good to hear the city alive and thriving beyond the flat. At the bottom of the basket, she found the bonnet she’d started sewing for the baby. Ned must have stowed it there, out of sight.

  Running her fingers over the white material, she felt a resurgence of her loss and longing. What would her mother say about the miscarriage? Victoria Thorne had only had one child. Was that because she too had experienced the loss of a baby? Ada suddenly wished she knew—that the silence between them wasn’t such a barrier. Tears lodged in her throat, and yet, they wouldn’t come.

  Should she get rid of the tiny bonnet? She held it tight, considering. Then, like Ned, she slipped it beneath a pair of his socks. Why had he put it there? she wondered. Was it to keep the painful reminder away from her . . . or himself? The desire to ask him felt as persistent and pressing as her pain had been earlier in the week.

  The hours slowly ticked by. She managed to prepare a simple dinner, and she hoped Ned would be pleased they weren’t having tea and toast again. At last it was time for him to come home. Ada took up her post in the parlor with a book to ensure she didn’t miss him this time, whether she fell asleep or not.

  But the hour grew later, the light outside dimmer, his dinner colder, and still Ned didn’t come. Alarm she hadn’t felt as keenly since the day they’d met at the train station in Scotland returned in full force now. Was he still at the shop? Or had something happened to him? She tried reading, but the words could only hold her attention for a few minutes before she was glancing at the mantel clock again.

  With slightly trembling fingers she changed into her nightgown. Perhaps he’d wanted to finish the print job tonight, regardless of how late it got. Though she didn’t like the idea of him walking home after dark.

  The sound of the outer door creaking open sent her heart thrashing in relief. She stepped quickly from the bedroom to see Ned walking into the kitchen, his head down, his shoulders stooped.

  “You’re back!”

  Ned jerked his chin up, his eyes widening when he saw her. “Ada? I thought you’d be in bed.”

  “I wanted to wait for you.” She offered him what she hoped resembled a smile.

  He shot her a wary look. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I only wanted to . . .” As he removed his coat, she caught the scent of ale wafting off of him. Ada froze, realization making her stomach twist with sick realization. “You weren’t at the shop, were you?”

  He glanced away. “I was for a bit.”

  “You were at a pub.” She crossed her arms.

  Though she hadn’t phrased it as a question, he nodded, still without looking at her.

  “Are you drunk, Ned?” She hardly dared believe it, but the proof seemed to be before her. Was this a habit he’d recently taken up or one he’d hidden from her from the beginning?

  His gaze went to hers. But instead of remorse, his blue eyes flashed with anger. “I had a single pint, Ada. That’s all.”

  She was relieved to hear it, and yet, she still didn’t understand. “Why were you there at all? I made us dinner.” She waved a hand at the plate on the table. “Is it because we’ve only had toast?”

  “It has nothing to do with toast.” He removed his cap and stood staring at it.

  The silence between them hung tense and suffocating. “What was your real reason for going to the pub then?”

  “I needed some time.”

  Ada sensed what he didn’t say—he’d needed time away from her. She pressed her folded arms against the yawning hurt his words inspired. “I see. And is there a reason you couldn’t tell me that? Is there a reason you won’t talk to me?”

  “Won’t talk to you?” His tone, though pained, held an incredulous edge to it too. “I’ve been trying for days to talk to you, Ada. You’re the one who won’t talk. You’ve been so consumed by what happened.”

  “I lost a baby,” she countered, her ire covering her pain.

  Ned’s expression softened slightly, but his next statement still had the power to wound. “I lost a baby . . . and a wife.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, to inflict the same cutting pain she felt. How had their relationship come to this—accusations and cloistered hurts? It took as much effort to press her lips together in this moment as it had been to get out of bed earlier. Throwing a barb at Ned wouldn’t fix things between them. If anything, it would likely make them worse now that she realized he was hurting every bit as much as her. Was it little wonder he’d spent his hours somewhere else tonight?

  Minnie’s words from the other day returned to her mind—they’re wantin’ to protect us and they ’ate it when they can’t. A wave of regret washed through her, purging her anger.

  “You’re right.” She took a deep breath and hazarded a step toward him. “I’ve been consumed with only my pain. And I’m sorry, Ned. I was just so happy, so sure, we would have this . . .”

  She couldn’t finish her sentence. The tears she thought would never come rushed into her throat and eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. In the next moment, Ned was cradling her against him. Ada couldn’t recall anything feeling so wonderful, so safe, as his arms around her.

  “I thought so too, Ada,” he murmured, his hand running the length of her unfettered hair.

  Her tears were as bitter as they were cleansing. “What did I do wrong? Am I being punished, Ned? Why did God take our baby?”

  “I . . .” He coughed, though his voice was strangled with tears of his own when he continued. “I don’t have all the answers, Ada.” His kiss to her forehead was achingly tender. “But I know this—God is not
a punishing being. He weeps for us and with us. His love isn’t just evident in the happy times. He’s there with us in the sad times too. And only He can know what a person needs to grow, even if that growth brings pain.”

  She pressed the side of her face against his shirtfront as she joined her hands behind his back. How she’d missed him! And from the almost desperate way Ned held her back, she knew he had missed her too.

  “I’m sorry for being at the pub instead of at home.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “I didn’t think you wanted me around.”

  Ada tightened her grasp. “I always want you around.”

  “Truly?” He tilted her chin upward until their eyes met. “You don’t wish you’d stayed in Yorkshire and married an earl?”

  She was tempted to tease, but she could see there was more seriousness than jest in his expression. “No, I don’t wish I had married an earl. I wished to marry a man of integrity and kindness who would exemplify such values to our children.” Another few tears slid down her cheek. Ned caught one with his thumb. “And that, Mr. Henley, is exactly what I did.”

  “You did warn me you were stubborn.” There was a spark in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in some time.

  One corner of her mouth rose. “I did, didn’t I? And I’m stubborn enough to choose this life again and again—even if it’s only you and I.”

  The intense relief on his handsome face told her volumes of his own suffering the last week. “From now on, whatever comes, we’ll work through it together, you and me. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  When their lips met, it was with a kiss as sweet and affectionate as their first had been beside the oak tree all those months ago. But unlike that kiss, this one also held deep grief over what they’d lost and a fragile hope for the future.

  Chapter 6

  November 1910

  She found the letter at the bottom of the mending basket, beneath the half-finished baby bonnet Ada had come into the parlor to find. Withdrawing both, she sucked in a sharp breath at the address on the envelope. It took a moment to realize it wasn’t from her mother—it was to her mother. Ada had written the missive a few weeks after her miscarriage on an especially gray day when she’d longed to speak to her mother about the loss.

  How Ned had managed to get to the letter and hide it before she could find it, Ada didn’t know. She did know what it meant that the thing had been returned to her, unopened. Her parents were still determined to have no contact with her.

  Setting the letter aside, along with the wave of pain and anger that threatened to pull her under, she fingered the half-finished bonnet. A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. She would need to finish the little cap by next summer, if all went well. And she was hoping—maybe even praying—that things would go well this time.

  The creak of the door had her hurrying to her feet. Ned was home! Ada met him in the kitchen with a kiss, but instead of setting the table as she usually did, she gave him a gentle push toward the parlor.

  “Aren’t we eating?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “In a minute.”

  He lifted his eyebrows in question, but she waited until he was seated in the armchair, his favorite seat, and she’d perched on his lap before saying anything.

  “I have some news.” Her heart beat as much with excitement as trepidation. Would Ned be happy? “We’re going to need this after all,” she said, pressing the half bonnet into his hand.

  Ned glanced from the cloth to her face, his eyes widening. “You’re . . .”

  “Yes.” Ada nodded. “The doctor confirmed it today.”

  He pulled her against him. “That’s wonderful news, Ada.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Right?”

  “It is.” She linked her fingers with his and gave them a squeeze. “Are you happy about it? The doctor assured me it wasn’t too soon.”

  Shifting, he looked directly at her. “I’m overjoyed, and I mean it.”

  “I also feel scared,” she admitted, fingering his collar with her free hand. “I don’t want to be but I am. I so want to keep this baby and be a mother.”

  Ned encircled his arms around her waist. “I’m a bit scared too to be honest, love.”

  Hearing his admission eased some of her anxiety.

  “One other thing.” Ada stood and collected the letter from where she’d set it on the sofa. “I found this.” She held it up for him to see.

  His expression changed at once, from elated to chagrinned.

  “Why did you hide it, Ned?” She was more confused than angry. After all, the last two months their relationship had been more warm and open than it ever had before.

  He lowered his gaze as he rubbed his hand over the chair arm. “I didn’t want to upset you. You seemed to be doing better when the letter was sent back.” When he lifted his head, his blue eyes were full of remorse and a plea for understanding. “I was afraid seeing it might send you back . . . into the fog.”

  Ada didn’t have to ask what he meant. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the fog of grief that had held her prisoner for a time after her miscarriage. She hoped to never return to it again.

  “Perhaps I would have gone back there had I seen it sooner.”

  Standing, he wrapped her in his arms. “I’m sorry, Ada. I just wanted to protect you.”

  “I know,” she murmured, resting her head on his chest. “But you can’t—not always, Ned. And we both promised to work together, remember?” She gazed up at him.

  He hesitated a moment, then dipped his head in a nod. “We did.”

  “So come what may”—she kissed him—“we do it together. Which means no more trying to shelter me from every bit of trouble. Agreed?”

  Ned pressed a kiss to her brow. “Agreed.”

  • • •

  July 1911

  Ned was certain he’d never seen any being as perfect in form as his infant daughter. Rubbing a finger over her smooth cheek, he peered in awe at her through watery eyes.

  “She’s beautiful, Ada,” he said hoarsely.

  His wife’s glowing smile, even as tired as she had to be after the difficult task of bringing their baby into the world, rivaled any other he’d seen on her sweet lips. “Rosemary Henley,” Ada crooned to the baby she held in her arms. “Our little Rosie is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “So are you, love.” From his seat next to her at the head of the bed, Ned bent toward her and kissed her temple.

  Her dark eyes were lit with love and joy when she looked up at him. “Thank you, Ned.”

  “For what?” He’d done little today, beyond wearing a rut into the floor with his pacing while the doctor and Minnie had attended Ada. Then he’d heard the cry of the baby—their baby—and his nervousness had changed to instant elation and relief.

  Ada leaned her head against him. “For marrying me.”

  He could think of no greater compliment than to hear that her own happiness matched his. The last year had not been as free of challenge as he would have liked for his Ada. But they were learning to pull together instead of apart. He hadn’t hidden any more returned letters, though there’d been several over the past eight months.

  Ned was also learning to rely more on God. There had been many nights during Ada’s pregnancy when he’d lain awake, worrying about her and the baby and hoping the result would be different than the last time. It had been in those moments when his silent prayers had flowed more deeply from his heart than ever before. He couldn’t protect Ada or their child from everything—he knew that now—but he could try to surrender them and his fears to God.

  “Do you want to hold her?” Ada asked him.

  Nodding, he carefully took the baby into his arms. He’d seen his fair share of newborn creatures during his time as a gamekeeper. But cradling his daughter to his chest was by far the most moving experience with new life that he’d witnessed.

  Little Rosemary yawned in her sleep, prompting a smile from him. “She has your dark hair.”

  “Ye
s, but she has your blue eyes.”

  Ned touched the baby’s nose. “They may not stay blue.”

  “They will,” she said with confidence and an impish smile. “I’m sure of it.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t believe she’s really here.”

  “Nor can I.” As if she needed proof, Ada reached out and brushed Rosemary’s hair. “Ned?” she said after a moment.

  “Hmm?”

  “Should we . . . can we . . . say a prayer, of thanks?”

  His gaze went to hers, though he did his best to check his surprise. “I’d like that.” He cleared past the lump in his throat to begin, but Ada stopped him with a hand to his sleeve.

  “May I say it?”

  His astonishment was difficult to conceal this time. And he clearly did a poor job of it because Ada laughed lightly.

  “Is that all right?” she asked.

  He answered with a nod, not sure if he could have spoken even if he’d wanted to. Bowing his head, he listened to her quiet words.

  “Our Father in Heaven, thank You for Rosemary.” Her voice broke with emotion. Ned recognized it as the same joyful gratitude spilling through him. “She is healthy and beautiful, and we are so grateful to have her here. Bless her and bless us as her parents.” Ada paused. When she continued it was in a less certain tone but one that was every bit as earnest. “If possible, Father, let her birth soften my parents’ hearts.”

  Ned placed his cheek against Ada’s hair. He didn’t blame her one bit for the hurt and anger she still felt toward Charles and Victoria Thorne. And yet, she also wanted to mend those relationships. He added his hope for that reunion when he echoed Ada’s amen.