Chapter 13
NOAH OPENED THE TOP DRAWERof his dresser as he did every morning, his fingers instinctively wrapping around his grandfather's pocket watch. The quiet ticking of the hands as they moved forward always brought his grandfather's consistency and faithfulness to mind, traits which seemed a bit out of reach in the last year.
A twin blend of grief and gratitude wound its way up through Noah's chest as his attention shifted to a small black-and-white portrait tucked in the corner of the same top drawer. Elinor's lovely dark eyes stared back at him, the photo's lack of color failing to highlight their soft brown hues.
He closed his eyes against the memory of holding her frail body in his arms and tried to push better thoughts to the surface, but watching life leave those eyes haunted him. The images of burying his new bride along with their stillborn son never seemed to fade like so many of the brighter memories.
The pain still slashed through him like a blade, but he'd grown accustomed to it now. Accustomed to the ache of a missing life, an unfinished love.
Time offered a strange sort of comfort, a blend of the distance from loss’ acuteness and the longing for what once was. But, to some degree, he'd begun to sleep again without reliving Elinor's cries in his dreams. He'd rediscovered his whistle, offering a tune to the songbirds on the walk to work, and he'd started looking forward instead of back.
And he'd begun to breathe in life. Accepting his place among the living instead of thinking his survival was more of an accident. It was a strange lot to be a young widower. Not uncommon, unfortunately, as too many men lost their wives in childbirth, but unsettling.
To have the life before and the life after.
The man he was before, and the man now.
No one could look on the outside of him and tell there'd been a change.
Same appearance, more like his mother than his father.
He enjoyed many of the same things. Chess, working with his hands, music, reading.
Yet there were pieces of him that would never be the same even a year later. And, for the most part, he didn't want those places inside of him to disappear.
He wanted her imprint on his life forever.
He closed the drawer as images of last night slipped into the ones of Elinor. His attention unexpectedly gravitated toward Kizzie McAdams. Something in her manner, her honesty. The way she'd stepped into the chaos of the overturned carriage and Marty's confusion as if some sort of soothing force.
And her prayer. Gentle with a tinge of strength infusing her words.
Like she truly believed them.
He shook his head to clear his mind of Kizzie's face. Whatever spell she'd cast on his thoughts needed to go. George would never approve of any connection with the likes of an unmarried mother, let alone one who used to be in service and probably didn't offer any financial benefit to the match.
Living beneath George's control raked over Noah's nerves, but he only needed to wait one more year for his inheritance to mature. One year, and he'd receive enough money to start over somewhere without George's influence, meddling, and criticism.
Maybe then, he could focus some time on his heart.
But not until then. Not until he was free.
He tucked the pocket watch in his jacket, picked up the cane, and raised his gaze to the ceiling, offering a simple prayer for guidance and patience before leaving his room.
As soon as he stepped across the threshold into the hallway, he froze.
Laughter?
He looked back at his bedroom. Was he still asleep?
More laughter rose up the stairs. His mother's laughter along with another woman's. What had happened in the few hours he'd slept? He pulled out the watch. Five hours, to be exact. He'd slept longer than anticipated. So long, the sunlight glimmered through the large upstairs windows into the galley hallway.
He rubbed at his shoulder, less sore than the night before, his grin taking brief flight. The poultice had worked its magic. The tea too, or else he'd have been up with the sun.
But her little remedy had worked. Exhaustion on his part probably helped too.
He descended the stairs and slid into the back hallway the servants usually took from the kitchen, which would give him a more subtle entry into the dining room. Mrs. North met him along the corridor, her dark brows high in silent inquiry, but he raised a finger to his lips, stilling her questions. With a tilt of her head, a slow smile dawned from her lips to her eyes, which paused his forward momentum.
What was that look about?
