Chapter 13

Can’t sleep either, girl?”

Nora twisted onto her side and stroked Phoebe’s fur. The puppy had been restless, starting the night on the bed, then moving to the floor, and finally returning to the bed.

Rolling onto her back, Nora stared up through the darkness at the ceiling. How could one day be so different from another? Yesterday, she’d felt alive, accepted, happy. Tonight she felt wary and tired. Colin’s inquiries at the pub hadn’t turned up any information. She wished he’d been able to talk to Jack, but he’d refused to go with the others. Nora would have to remember to ask him later if he’d heard anything suspicious.

She draped her arm across her forehead and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come. It wasn’t that she felt unsafe. The doors were locked, and neither act of violence had been life-threatening in any way. But Nora couldn’t rid herself of the unsettling feeling of being watched and disliked. Which made sleep nearly impossible.

With a sigh, she sat up. Phoebe lifted her head in question. “I’m going to read,” Nora explained.

She lit the lamp beside her bed and picked up Eleanor’s diary. Removing the ribbon that marked her place, Nora scooted back beneath the covers. She would never have suspected a journal to be so riveting, but she found herself caught up in the details of Eleanor’s life.

After E married, the young woman had remained some time without a beau, though she did mention exchanging letters with Matthew Galbert, the farmer and fiddler. Apparently the young man had some sort of illness that often confined him to bed, so he greatly appreciated Eleanor’s letters. When they did see each other at village functions, he often accompanied her singing on his fiddle. The people of Larksbeck loved the musical duo and would request their performance for holidays.

While Nora knew the two would eventually marry, since Eleanor’s last name had changed from Lewis to Galbert, she still found the story of their courtship interesting. Especially knowing E had been Eleanor’s first love.

After locating the last entry she’d read before bed, Nora began reading again. Eleanor wrote of a growing affection for Matthew—from friendship to something more. Nora could relate. She was beginning to feel the same way toward Colin.

She couldn’t help smiling as she read about Matthew finally asking for Eleanor’s hand in marriage and her acceptance. But Eleanor’s next words made her pause.

Some may wonder if I regret falling in love with another before I met Matthew. But I would answer: never. Loving E allowed me to recognize love when it presented itself a second time and made me more determined than ever to overcome the challenges. If anything, my love for Matthew is stronger because of all I’ve experienced.

Nora read the words through twice, her finger skimming the worn handwriting. She’d loved Tom with all her heart and had yearned for a future together, before that dream had been broken. Did that mean she could never love another man as strongly? Eleanor certainly didn’t think so.

The next few entries were about Eleanor and Matthew’s wedding plans and the day itself. After a short trip to Scotland, the pair moved in with Eleanor’s father. The dates at the top of the pages grew farther apart as Eleanor settled into her new life. She mentioned moments of great happiness as well as moments of great struggle over Matthew’s health. Two years into their marriage, Eleanor became pregnant and several entries expressed her delight at the prospect of being a mother.

Then Matthew lost his fight against the illness that had plagued him most of his life. Tears dripped off Nora’s chin onto the page as she read Eleanor’s entry of the event, written a month after Matthew’s death.

I thought I knew love when I loved E, but I see now that was more a girlish fancy. I thought I knew love when I married Matthew, but I was wrong then, too. Holding my beloved’s hand as he crossed from this life to the next, I experienced true love and its infinite power.

Matthew’s last request was about our sweet baby’s name. If a boy, he asked that I name him Matthew. And if a girl, he asked me to give her the shortened version of my name—Nora.

The book tumbled from Nora’s hands to her lap. She stared at it as if it might rear up and bite her. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. She’d heard Eleanor and Matthew had a daughter who’d gone to live with relatives as a baby after Eleanor died. But surely she would have heard if she had a distant cousin with her exact same name.

Goose pimples broke out along her arms and she shivered. If there was no other Nora in the family, could that mean…? All the references she’d heard since coming to Larksbeck about her likeness to Eleanor repeated through her mind.

“No,” she told herself firmly, shaking her head and folding her arms tightly against her nightgown. The idea was preposterous. Her parents had been Frank and Grace Lewis.

She shoved the book onto the bedside table and blew out the lamp. No more reading tonight. It was merely a coincidence she and Eleanor’s daughter shared the same name. Perhaps the relatives had changed the girl’s name to something else—that would explain why there wasn’t another Nora in the family.

Things all around were bound to look better and more sensible in the morning. Nora settled on her side next to Phoebe and shut her eyes, but sleep was still long in coming.

*  *  *

On hands and knees the following morning, Nora wiped up the rainwater that had once again leaked through the broken window onto the floor of the dining room. It had been almost a week since she’d found the rock and note. If she didn’t fix the window soon, she feared the floor beneath it would start warping.

“We’re off to the village this morning, Phoebe,” she announced as she went to fetch the puppy from where she’d tied her outside earlier. Phoebe jumped and barked in anticipation as if she understood the outing in store.

Nora untied the dog and allowed her gaze to sweep for a moment over her field. Something wasn’t right. She studied the line of her stone walls until she located the problem. Something—or more likely, someone—had toppled several feet of the wall she and Jack had painstakingly fixed three weeks ago.

The garden two days ago and now this. Nora squeezed her eyes shut against a rising headache. At least she could fix this. The garden was another story. She wasn’t sure how much she could expect to reap even if she replanted.

A feeling of despair threatened to overwhelm her. Who wanted her gone so badly? And why? Her only wish was to carve out a life for herself here. Was that so offensive to the other farmers?

She opened her eyes and blew out a long sigh. It was time to start repairing the damage that had been done. Time to show whoever wanted her gone that she wasn’t leaving.

With Phoebe’s leash in hand, she collected the basket Mr. Bagley had kindly given her and locked the doors. The puppy dashed as far down the lane as the rope would allow, coaxing a smile from Nora. How grateful she was for the energetic puppy. She felt less isolated with Phoebe around for company.

Of course, Colin had come to mean as much to her as Phoebe. More so, her heart argued. Watching him interact with the other farmers yesterday and basking in the comfort of his strong arms, she’d realized how much she’d come to rely on and cherish his presence in her life. The anticipation of seeing his playful smile, or teasing and talking with him, or feeling the touch of his hand on her face buoyed up her spirits. He had become the sun to her recently cloudy days.

Her thoughts returned to what she’d read in Eleanor’s diary the night before—how Eleanor felt no regret at loving someone else before she loved Matthew. Did Nora have the courage to do the same? She’d locked her heart after Tom’s death, but Colin had successfully breached the barricade. Wouldn’t he be pleased to know that? A hint of a smile pulled at her lips.

The gesture soon faded to a frown, though, as other questions crowded her thoughts. If they were to marry, would Colin be willing to give up his grand house to come live on her sheep farm? Or would she be required to fit into his high-society life instead?

With no ready answers, Nora pushed the troubling queries to the back of her mind and sucked in a deep breath of clean, dew-drenched air. She would salvage the day, regardless of what had transpired with her stone wall.

She and Phoebe traversed the bridge, and Nora waved to several of the women in the village who were busy working outdoors today. They cheerfully returned her greeting, prompting a mixture of happiness and confusion inside her. If most of the families enjoyed having her here, who didn’t?

She reached Mr. Bagley’s shop, but embarrassment kept her from heading straight inside. After all, she’d already ordered one windowpane from him. Would he think her careless when she announced she needed another?

There was no reason to feel ashamed, she reminded herself. She wasn’t the one who’d broken the window either time. After tying Phoebe out front, she opened the door and marched into the shop.

Mr. Bagley looked up from his newspaper and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Lewis.” He folded his paper and set it on the long counter. “Splendid job on your solo last Sunday.” He leaned his elbows on the counter as he added, “Though I did wonder if nerves had gotten the better of you for a moment.”

“For a moment,” Nora admitted, “but then my courage returned.”

“How about Mr. Ashby?” Mr. Bagley frowned. “Is he returning to our choir? Can’t say I’d blame him if he didn’t. Not after missing our performance this week.”

“I promise you he had a very good excuse for not being there. His friend, Andrew Lyle, the one visiting him, was feeling poorly.”

The grocer straightened, sympathy emanating from his gray-blue eyes. “Aye, then. I suppose that’s a good enough reason to miss services. Now what can I do for you today?”

“I need just a few things.” Nora collected some goods from around the shop and brought them to the counter. “I’d also like to order another windowpane.”

Mr. Bagley arched his eyebrows. “Another? What are you doing to your windows, Miss Lewis?”

Nora forced herself to join in his good-natured laughter. “Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. I’m afraid an errant rock made its way through one of the panes last week.”

“How did that happen?” he asked with a puzzled frown.

Not wishing to divulge more than she had to, Nora settled for sharing the simple truth. “I don’t know. It might have been an innocent prank.” Though the note, her ruined garden, and the toppled stone wall this morning all suggested otherwise.

Mr. Bagley’s frown deepened to a scowl. “Prank or not, such a thing isn’t right. I’d like to take a belt to whoever did it. And I’d be willing to bet the lad’s parents would feel the same.”

Nora doubted it was a child who wanted her gone. “Is there anyone who might be…” She paused for the right words. “Might be upset by my coming here and taking over Henry’s place?”

“Certainly not.” Mr. Bagley shook his head, a smile breaking through his grim expression. “We were right pleased to hear you might be coming. To have Eleanor’s daughter home again—it was great news for all of us.”

Nora’s heart seemed to stop, then began beating again, twice as fast. The floor felt suddenly uneven beneath her feet. She gripped the counter to keep from swaying. Mr. Bagley’s words echoed the ones she’d tried to drown out last night as she lay awake, long after putting the diary aside.

She couldn’t be Eleanor’s daughter—she’d never even been to England before now. At her age, she certainly knew who her parents were and who they weren’t.

Unbidden wisps of memory drifted into her mind, things Nora had wondered about over the years, questions to which her parents had only vague answers. Why they’d never had more children. Why she didn’t look like either of them. Why her mother couldn’t recall details of Nora’s birth or those first few months of her life.

“Miss Lewis? Nora?” Mr. Bagley’s voice sounded far away. “Are you all right? You look rather pale.”

Nora shut her eyes a moment, to clear the confusion swirling through her head. When she opened her eyes again, she pasted on a smile. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll order your windowpane today,” Mr. Bagley said after she’d paid for her purchases and put them into her basket. “And we’ll see you Saturday at choir rehearsal.”

She managed a nod before escaping the shop. Phoebe pawed at her boots as Nora untied the dog’s leash. She couldn’t go back to the cottage now. Not with Mr. Bagley’s announcement about her being Eleanor’s daughter still ringing in her ears. She had to know if it was true, and there was only one person who could confirm or refute it.

Bess.

Whatever the woman’s reasons were for keeping silent, or mostly silent, about Eleanor the last two months, Nora determined she would wrestle the truth from Bess today. She would not leave the Tuttle cottage until she had the answers she needed.

Nora gently pulled Phoebe into step beside her and hurried up the road, away from Larksbeck. At her quickened pace, she reached the Tuttles’ cottage in minutes. She proceeded to the back door, where she stopped to catch her breath, praying she’d catch Bess alone. After giving the door a good knock, she gathered Phoebe into her arms, along with her basket, and waited for Bess to answer.

The door opened a minute later, and Bess appeared in the doorway, a dish cloth in her hands. “Nora. Come in, come in.”

Nora stepped into the warm kitchen. No one else appeared to be about. The smell of baking bread filled her nose. “Smells delicious.”

“It’ll be done in about ten minutes and you can have a slice.” Bess moved to the sink, lifted a dish, and dried it. “Already been to the village, have you?” She nodded at the basket Nora set on one of the benches drawn up to the table.

“Yes.” She took a seat and let Phoebe down onto the floor, though she kept hold of the puppy’s leash.

Bess put the dish away, but she paused in her return to the sink to ask, “Are you all right, love? You look like you could use a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes…I mean, no.” Nora cleared her throat. Best to just come out with it. “I want to know who Eleanor is.” That wasn’t right either. “What I mean is I want to know who Eleanor is, to me.”

Bess faced the sink, her back to Nora. Her silence stretched over several long seconds.

“Please, Bess,” Nora pleaded. “You know the truth. I need to know it, too.”

Heaving a sigh, Bess turned slowly. Her eyes glistened with unshed moisture, but they held Nora’s. “I didn’t think it my place to say, but then again, everyone else has passed on, you see.” She gave a humorless chuckle.

Nora waited for Bess to continue, her heart drumming as fast as it had in Mr. Bagley’s shop. Her fingernails dug deeper into the leather of Phoebe’s leash.

“Eleanor Lewis Galbert was your mum, love.”

Though Bess’s words confirmed her suspicions, the simple declaration still pounded Nora like a rush of cold wind, tearing through the idyllic memories of her childhood. “My—my mother?”

Bess nodded. “Henry wasn’t really your great-uncle. He was your grandfather.” Several tears slipped down her round cheeks, but she was smiling. “I got to hold you a few hours after you were born, you know. Your hair was the same rich red as your mum’s, even then.”

Nora tried to imagine the scene—Bess holding her as a baby, while Eleanor and Henry looked on. But she couldn’t quite visualize the faces of her real mother and grandfather.

Something damp nudged her hand. Looking down, Nora mustered half a smile for Phoebe as she rubbed the puppy’s soft brown fur. “How did my…” The word parents didn’t roll so easily off her tongue anymore. “How did Frank and Grace Lewis come to raise me? I know from Eleanor’s diary she died shortly after…I was born.”

“You found her diary?” Bess sat down on the bench. “I searched for it after she died, but never found it. Where was it?”

“Tucked inside a cracker tin in one of the stone walls.”

Her eyes glowed with delight. “Eleanor was always clever like that.”

“What about Frank and Grace?” Nora prompted.

Bess shook her head, as if casting off old memories. “Your poor grandfather was beside himself with grief over Eleanor’s death. He’d lost his wife, his son-in-law, and his daughter. He loved you fiercely, he did, but he knew he couldn’t care for a wee babe on his own.

“So he wrote to his brother James in America, asking what could be done. James wrote back about his son Frank and his lovely daughter-in-law who couldn’t have children. Would Henry consider allowing them to rear you as their own.”

Nora blew out her breath. She felt as if she were living a scene from a dream—to find out her life had begun so differently than she’d always believed. That she was different than she’d always believed.

“I remember the day your American mum and dad came here.” Bess’s voice sounded full of the past again. “I’d thought of taking you myself, since I’d been caring for you a great deal, but Henry said ’twas better this way. When I saw that beautiful blond woman hold you and smile, I knew he was right.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Still, Henry looked mighty forlorn when they drove away with you in the wagon.”

She climbed to her feet and motioned Nora up as well. “Come here, love. I’ve something to show you.”

As though moving through a fog, Nora tied Phoebe’s leash around a chair leg and followed Bess into her parlor. The woman removed a thick volume from the bookcase. She sat on the settee and patted the empty spot beside her. Nora dropped onto it. The book wasn’t one for reading—it was a photo album.

“I borrowed this from Henry’s cottage after he died.” Bess flipped through several pages before she stopped on one. A single photo filled the page. In it a man in a suit and a woman in a white dress, holding a small bouquet of flowers, stood outside Henry’s cottage. Nora peered closer. The woman’s heart-shaped face and large eyes were identical to her own, though her nose more resembled the man’s.

Nora ran a finger over the two faces. “I read about how they met and fell in love. How Matthew would play the fiddle and Eleanor would sing.” She couldn’t yet call them Father or Mother.

Bess patted her hand. “They were very much in love, those two. Your mother was devastated when your father died, but she was strong—for you. She kept his wish to call you Nora.”

“And Frank and Grace agreed to do the same?”

“It was the one request your grandfather made of them.”

“I wonder why they never told me.”

Nora searched her memory for some hint, some chance word from her parents that might have implied her true origins, but she couldn’t think of one. Not even on their death beds had her mother or father shared anything but their love for her. Of that, she had no doubt. Even if she hadn’t been the natural daughter of Frank and Grace Lewis, she had not been loved any less than if she had been. The realization wrapped itself around her like a comforting blanket, soothing some of her earlier shock.

“Ah, who knows,” Bess said with a lift of her plump shoulders. “They had their reasons, I’m sure. The heart is a funny thing, love.”

“And Henry? Didn’t he ever wish to contact me directly?” The letters from England had always been addressed to her father, Frank Lewis, though he’d occasionally shared portions with Nora.

“Dozens of times, I imagine. But I think he felt it best to let you live your life there. He wanted you happy most of all.”

Bess flipped to a different page. Nora recognized the photo of a little girl in a rocking chair. It had been on top of the piano at the farm in Iowa for as long as she could remember.

“That’s me.”

Bess dipped her chin. “They were kind to send it to your grandfather. They wrote every six months or so to tell him about you, though the letters stopped a few years ago.”

“They died, from the influenza.” Nora stared at herself in the photo and tried to imagine Henry doing the same.

“That leaves just you and us then.”

You and us. A glimmer of expectancy rose inside Nora. “If Eleanor’s your cousin, then Jack and the others are my…”

“Is it second cousins or third cousins once removed?” Bess laughed. “I never can remember. But no matter—you’re family.” She closed the album and gently pushed it onto Nora’s lap. “This is yours now.”

“Are you sure? I already have her diary.”

Bess brushed a piece of dust from the album’s cover. “Then it’s only fitting you have the few photos that go with it.”

On impulse, Nora leaned forward and gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek. Bess was the closest thing to an aunt Nora had ever had. “Thank you—for the photos, but even more, for telling me the truth.”

A blush spread over Bess’s face, but a grin graced her mouth. “You are more than welcome, love.” She released a deep sigh and laughed. “It’s a relief, actually, to have you knowing the truth. Don’t know how many times I had to stop myself or one of the children from saying too much. They’ve always known about their distant cousin in America.”

“Why did you wait to tell me?”

“Because I knew when the time was right, you’d come asking yourself.” She stood and shooed Nora off the settee. “Time to pull that bread out of the oven, and feed you proper. You’re as skinny as your mum was.” With a hearty laugh, she led Nora back into the kitchen.

Once she’d eaten her fill of bread and jam, Nora bade Bess good-bye. As she and Phoebe walked past the fell and the gray-blue lake toward the cottage, she realized something looked different. The colors were sharper, and the beauty of the valley touched her soul deeper. Of course she knew the scenery hadn’t really changed, but she had.

It was Nora Lewis from Iowa who’d walked down the road this morning, but it was Nora Lewis Galbert from England who walked back now. She hadn’t come to live in a foreign place, after all; she’d come home. And here she wasn’t alone—she had family nearby.

Home and family. The words swept through her like a gentle breeze, clearing away her earlier melancholy. If this was indeed her home, then no amount of persuasion—violent or otherwise—would induce her to leave.

I felt you wanted me here, God. Nora lifted her eyes to a patch of blue sky directly overhead. Now I think I understand why.