"I don't know if I'm brave enough to be with someone as brave as you."
Elizabeth can still remember the look on Jack's face when she'd said those words. The pained, panic expression on his face was still burned in her mind. She remembered as Jack's steady gaze faltered, his eyes shifting from her to look into the small fire he'd built to keep them warm. And she remembered the even more painful way his features twisted and steeled into an unreadable expression, readying himself for the inevitable blow she was sure to deliver at any moment. The way his eyes glazed over, searching within himself for an answer to an impossible question.
It was a time, several years ago now (enough years that it seemed like a lifetime ago) that Elizabeth had looked a hopeful, somewhat scared, but always steady and sure Jack Thornton in the eye and uttered the most idiotic sentence she'd ever spoken, "I don't know if I'm brave enough to be with someone as brave as you."
It was a horrible scar in the deep recesses of her mind….
She had nearly let her family's well-meaning but misguided expectations for her life and her own fears send her running back to Hamilton. Running from Hope Valley and its hardships and infinite toils. Far from her wonderfully curious students and their infectious desire to learn and grow that constantly reminded her of why she wanted to be a teacher. And farther still from the stubborn, clever, handsome, infuriatingly wonderful Mountie that had so easily and silently stolen her heart without giving Elizabeth a chance to put up a fight to keep it.
"I don't know if I'm brave enough to be with someone as brave as you."
Sometimes, in the dark of the night, when Elizabeth let her mind wander to the darker parts of her imagination, she wondered what her life would be like had she succumbed to those fears, had Jack not fought back and been brave enough to tell her he loved her first. Whatever she conjured up, whatever alternate worlds she could manage… they were so painfully plain, so horribly lacking that Elizabeth would quickly push them aside.
"I don't know if I'm brave enough to be with someone as brave as you."
One sentence… one constant reminder of just how fragile, how precious and delicate her life was. It was the challenge she forced herself to rise to every day after the first time she and Jack had said they loved one another. And as she prayed every morning for Jack's safety, whether he was fighting far from home or simply going on his rounds in their sleepy frontier town, Elizabeth prayed for bravery to face whatever came their way….
She would have laughed at the irony of it, if she wasn't so terrified.
It never occurred to Elizabeth to pray for safety for herself.
It never crossed her mind that when she woke up this morning that it might be her last day teaching in the wonderful school house Jack had built for her. That it was the day Thatcher would lose his mother far younger than Jack had lost his father… that it was the day she would make Jack a widower….
Elizabeth never thought that one day, it would all end with her standing in the parlor of the home Jack had so lovingly designed for them. That he would be forced to watch her die, unable to stop it… to save her from the knife pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. The metal of it somehow searing her skin despite how cold it was.
Elizabeth never imagined that Charles Kensington, her one time friend and (despite her best efforts to prevent it) former suitor, would be the one holding her life in the palm of his hand… holding her hostage and holding Jack as his captive audience.
She never thought she'd see Jack's hazel eyes grow a deep, stormy gray. That beautiful, loving gaze turn and fill with determination and some unnamed emotion that sent a painful jolt of fear down her spine…. Elizabeth never thought she'd ever hear his voice grow so cold and sharp. … so different from the warm timbre she was accustomed to.
"You have a choice to make, Thornton," Charles practically snarled as he tightened his grip on her arm and pressed the blade closer to her skin, "you can put down your gun or I'll slit her throat. Right here. Right now."
Elizabeth swallowed painfully as Charles pressed just hard enough to tear the skin just under her jaw, drawing blood. She watched as that horrible, pained and panicked look she'd seen so long ago find its way back to Jack's face. His features twisting into a steeled, unreadable expression as his gaze faltered, eyes shifting from Charles to her and then to look past them both. She saw him searching for a way out, for an answer to an impossible question. Except Elizabeth knew the answer… and she knew it would kill him to do it….
"The choice is yours, Thornton… and the clock is ticking."
"I don't know if I'm brave enough to be with someone as brave as you."
That stupid sentence wouldn't stop echoing in her head.
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
She didn't want to be here. She wanted it to be this morning. It had been a lovely morning…. no. She wished it had been yesterday….
It had been a wonderful evening.
Elizabeth even dared to call it perfect.
After she and Jack had returned from touring their new home, they stopped by Dottie's to pick up Thatcher. He let out a high pitched cackle and brandished a beautiful, toothless smile at the sight of his mother and father. Elizabeth watched silently as Jack pulled the boy from Julie's grasp and placed a kiss on the crown of his head… She studied the way the sunlight filtered through the thin gossamer curtains framing the storefront window… how it engulfed them all in a cozy, comfortable glow. The contented smile on Jack's face as he laughed at something Julie said. The simple, complex joy that filled her soul to know that Jack and Julie had become such good friends, the same way she and Tom had. Or the way her parents had come to not only accept Jack, but how her mother doted on and fussed over him, how her father admired and bragged about him to anyone that would listen.
It often caught Elizabeth off guard, the way her life had turned out. Not so long ago, the view in front of her had almost been nothing more than a fragile dream… nearly lost to her own fears. A desperate hope that she so very nearly had to lock away in her heart, only to look back on with pain and regret.
But it wasn't a dream. It was real.
Jack Thornton, her husband, was holding their perfect baby boy while her younger sister (who had grown and matured and become the woman Elizabeth always knew she could be) made him laugh with an absurd story about her day. It was something so simple and perfect, a wonderfully insignificant moment like so many others that were the pieces of a life well lived. And so… she stored it, locked it away in her heart to look back on with wonder and delight.
So when they walked through the front door of the row house after afternoon tea at Abigail's, as Jack began to dish out yesterday's roast chicken while she readied a bath for Thatcher, Elizabeth vowed to take in the moment. She smiled at the silly scowl Thatcher made as the warm bath water ran over his skin (he really hated baths). She laughed when Jack cursed under his breath, apparently forgetting the dish he pulled out of the stove was still hot. And when he looked over at her with the same scowl she'd just seen on Thatcher, Elizabeth's laughter grew… another delicate piece of her fantastic, impossible life.
And when Thatcher had finally gone to sleep, and she and Jack had fallen into bed, Elizabeth vowed to remember the moment. The rough timber of Jack's voice as he whispered how much he loved her. The luxurious feel of his silky hair threaded through her fingers… the decadent weight of his body over hers, his warm skin under her fingertips. And later, when they were bone achingly tired and pleasantly spent, Elizabeth studied the newly healed scar on his stomach and shoulder. Her finger traced the raised skin just underneath the contour of strong, toned muscle. She committed the gentle pressure of his calloused hand running up and down the bare skin of her shoulder to memory.
Another touchstone, a delicate moment of an even more delicate dream come true that was locked up safely in Elizabeth's heart as she traced one of the multitude of reminders of how close she'd come to losing it. How she had known, even before Tom had told her, that something was wrong with Jack… and that she was completely unable to fix it.
"Penny for h'em?"
An easy smile graced her lips at the sound of his Quebecer accent coming through, something that only happened when he was nearly asleep, his mind lax and tongue loose (the fact that only she knew of the little quirks and idiosyncrasies that made up her husband warmed her heart). And the easy way he could tell when she let herself get lost in thought without so much as looking at her… to be understood and loved so fully left her breathless.
And Elizabeth clung to that feeling… the undeniable peace and contentment that came from being known and seen… for all the transgressions and virtues laid bare with the vulnerability that only occurred with complete and utter trust… and the complete and perfect love that came from it all. She pulled back slightly to find Jack slowly opening his eyes. A soft, tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Elizabeth couldn't help but plant a tender kiss to them before tucking herself back into his side.
Contended silence settled around them as Elizabeth searched for what to say….
"I think I felt it," Elizabeth whispered in the dark as she wedged herself closer to Jack's side, his gloriously warm, bare skin rubbing pleasantly against her own, reminding her that the danger had passed, "when you were hurt."
She could feel Jack tense underneath her and the gentle movement of his finger that was tracing on her shoulder ceased.
"I know it sounds strange," she continued, "but there was a moment, just before Tom came up the stairs and told me you were hurt…. it felt like… like I'd fallen through the ice that freezes over the pond in winter. I was so cold, so paralyzed by something I couldn't name or describe. It felt as if time was running out, winding down to something. And I realized that I'd felt that way before… when you were hurt in the flood."
Elizabeth's voice caught in her throat. It had been three years… nearly four, since the settlement flood and still….
She closed her eyes and rested her head just over Jack's heart, the steady thump of it solid and reassuring as it echoed in her ear. He was okay. He was here…
"Abigail and I were moving everyone out of the settlement. I was helping load the children into the wagon when this… chill seemed to settle into my bones and the cold was so sharp and painful that I couldn't breathe…. I know that it sounds absurd."
Jack's silence hung in the air and in a moment of self-doubt Elizabeth wished she hadn't said something so foolish. And so she began shrink into herself. The hand that had been tracing an unnamable pattern across the scarred skin on Jack's shoulder stopped its movement. A dark blush began to bloom on her neck and face. She prayed that Jack couldn't feel the heat rising in her face. She tried to put some distance between her, her embarrassment, and her husband.
Except Jack pulled her closer and placed a calming kiss on the top of her head, "It's not absurd… I've felt it before."
Jack could feel Elizabeth lift her head up from its spot on his chest, and even though the candles were spent and the only light in the room was from the waning moon just outside their bedroom window, Jack knew she was staring at him with confusion and curiosity etched into the beautiful soft contours of her face. He began to trace a nonsensical pattern on the back of her hand that lay against his heart as he began his attempt to answer her unspoken question.
"When I had been reassigned… before I had come back into town. It was just after I learned Nate Tolliver was headed to Hope Valley. I was riding back to warn everyone. And then it just hit me, this horrible… emptiness that just left me so cold. And I knew… with everything in me, that something had happened to you. That something horrible was about to happen… that my whole world would shatter if I didn't get back to you as soon as possible. And I just…"
Jack pulled back slightly and moved down so he could look Elizabeth in the eye. He placed his calloused hand delicately on her jaw and began to rub his thumb reverently over her lips. Elizabeth's soft, slender hand wrapped around Jack's wrist, a silent plea for him not to move it. Jack answered in kind by pulling her even closer to him.
He could see Elizabeth begin to speak before stopping herself abruptly… and an adorable giggle escaped her lips instead.
Jack's brow furrowed with confusion but his tone was affectionate and amused, "What? What's so funny?"
Elizabeth shook her head slightly as her giggle began to grow into a full bellied laugh, "It's just… well, I was about to quote something Emily Bronte wrote about soulmates," her laugh continued to grow as she saw Jack roll his eyes slightly, "but I know how much you can't stand Wuthering Heights and I knew that as soon as I did you'd roll your eyes. And you have proven me correct, Captain Thornton."
A playful smile danced across Jack's lips. The low chuckle vibrating in his chest a treasure… a beautiful sound that had been in short supply for far too long. It settled over Elizabeth like… like a worn flannel blanket, warming her from head to toe. She made a silent promise to do everything she could to make him laugh as often as possible. To make him feel as light and safe as he did in this moment.
"Well, if you feel compelled to quote the Brontes, I'll thank you kindly for not equating me to Heathcliff…. Of all the literary paragons to compare me to… I hope he's not your first choice." Jack's deep voice, teasing and full of affection, began to grow rough with sleep. The weight of tomorrow fell over him and his eyelids suddenly felt too heavy to keep open.
"What I'd like to know is why you're so well versed in Romantic Victorian Literature?"
"Since I fell in love with a school teacher who quotes Wuthering Heights. I needed to sound like I knew what she was talking about. I would have written a blasted book report on it if she'd asked me to."
Jack couldn't help but grin as Elizabeth placed a delicate kiss to the underside of his jaw as a reward for his dry remark.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," she said with a conspiratorial smile, "I despise grading book reports."
Elizabeth earned a hearty chuckle from Jack and her smile spread further at the melodious sound.
Jack turned on his side, his eyes peaking open for a moment as he faced her, "Well then I'll let you in on a little secret," a sly grin of his own forming on his lips," I never finished the book."
"Jack!" Elizabeth smacked his chest playfully.
His smile widened, eyes closing once more as he spoke, "I told you, I only needed to sound like I knew what I was talking about. I didn't actually need to know."
Elizabeth watched as sleep began to overtake him. The strain of the day and the recent events that had built up seemed to ease as she ran her finger along the sharp line of his jaw, "It's just as well. I would say you're much closer to a Captain Wentworth than a Heathcliff anyway."
Elizabeth moved her hand up to the nape of his neck. Her nails scratched softly at his scalp as her fingers ran through the soft tendrils of his hair. Jack moaned softly as Elizabeth's fingers moved to the back of his neck, scratching softly and lulling him further to sleep, "Not a Mr. Darcy? I feel slighted, Mrs. Thornton."
Elizabeth grinned as she studied Jack's face. She traced the subtle curve of his cheek as his jaw, pleasantly rough with stubble, relaxed fully, leaving his mouth to hang open slightly.
"I have to give you something to work towards, Jack. To make sure you don't become complacent."
Jack grunted softly, clearly annoyed even as sleep began to take hold of his mind and body. He turned onto his back again and with one more deep breath, he finally succumbed to his exhaustion, "y'read too much Jane Austen."
Elizabeth smiled again as she placed a gentle kiss to Jack's brow as the last remnants of tension left his strong, sturdy frame. She listened to his breathing even out and slow and Elizabeth simply watched him, studied his every feature. She placed her head on his chest, her ear just above his heart. She tried to memorize his every sound; the low rumble of his chest as he breathed in and out… the soft, steady beat of his heart that belonged to her and her alone. She soaked up the warmth of him, the contentment that washed over her by simply being in his presence.
Storing up enough to last her a lifetime….
Elizabeth tried… she tried desperately not to worry about tomorrow, not to let her mind wander to the darkest places of what the day might have in store. But she couldn't pretend that the morning didn't bring with it the threat of losing Jack and the pieces of her heart and soul that would be forever broken if she did. So she had been determined to commit everything about him to memory. The way he could make her feel alive and come apart under his passionate touch. The shy, nearly dumbfounded smile that crept to the corners of his mouth whenever she leaned in to kiss him. His soft, measured gaze as he listened to her speak about anything and everything. The way he smelled of carbolic soap and pine sap and the wildflowers that grew in the meadow by the schoolhouse he built for her.
She vowed to remember the way his eyes narrowed in concentration as he sketched in the living room as the setting sun stole the natural light he always preferred to candles or an Edison bulb. The way he would worry his lip while writing his reports at the dining table while she graded papers at her desk. The way a few strands of his hair, usually so neat and tidy, would fall and flop over his forehead as he polished his boots or mended his serge.
Elizabeth pleaded with God and the angels and all the saints she could name to help her never forget the wonder in his gaze as he held their son. The soft, honeyed rumble of his voice as he sang an old French lullaby to Thatcher that his father sang to him so many years ago. The bright, unburdened smile that would grace his lips as Thatcher giggled and jumped up and down in his lap. The way their son would burrow his head into the crook of his neck as he fell asleep while Jack rested his cheek against the top of the boy's head, every so often placing a featherlight kiss to his downy hair.
Elizabeth had faith in her husband. Had faith in his abilities and his determination to always come home to her and to their son. She knew that as long as there was a breath in his body, that Jack Thornton would fight. But she hadn't forgotten (would forever be haunted by) the look of his beaten body and pale, clammy skin as he lay in the infirmary, exhausted from blood loss and hypothermia. The way his chest rattled anytime he took a breath and the grimace of pain that would flash across his face if he moved his bullet ripped shoulder and torso too quickly.
So she studied Jack as he slept. Soaked up every drop of warmth he radiated. She continued to stroke his hair (he told her once, just after he proposed, that it relaxed him after a long, hard day) and without thinking, she began to hum his favorite song.
Elizabeth prayed silently, desperately, for God to keep him safe tomorrow and every day after that. She begged Him not destroy her soul and take away her very heart by making her a widow. She pleaded for courage and strength to help hold her husband up when his guilt and shame and anger threatened to beat him down. She offered up her heart and soul and everything in between so long as he came home.
"And I'll be here, in sunshine or in shadow. Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so…"
Elizabeth had never enjoyed waking up in the early hours of day. If she had her way, businesses, schools, and churches alike wouldn't dare open their doors until well after nine in the morning. That desire to stay in bed had only grown stronger after she and Jack had married. The warmth he radiated left her feeling cocooned and safe, his strong arms wrapped around her a constant reminder that he was there… that it was all real. And, she admitted to herself, it didn't hurt in the slightest that he was rather pleasant to look at.
She'd been so lucky to travel to so many beautiful places: family vacations in France, Greece, and Holland to name a few… but for the life of her, Elizabeth Thornton could think of few things more beautiful than the sight of her husband in the morning. Bright, colorful tulip fields paled in comparison to the light of his shy, tired smile as he awoke. The sapphire sea off the coast of Santorini was dull and diluted compared to his rich, deep hazel eyes shimmering like jewels in the first rays of the morning light. And the Eiffel Tower… nothing more than a pile of twigs when compared to his sturdy, hardened frame.
It was rare for Elizabeth to wake before him. And rarer still to be able to lay and simply watch him sleep. But she wanted to see him, wanted to witness the beauty of him just waking up and preparing for the day. So she propped herself up onto her elbow and watched as he slept, looking freer and younger than he had in months. And when he blessed her with the glorious sight of waking up, that breathtaking smile on his lips, Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from smiling in return as he leaned over to kiss her good morning.
Once Thatcher was roused from sleep, Elizabeth picked her son up from his crib and held him snugly to her chest, taking in the slight smell of sweat and talcum powder and that undefined, sweet fragrance of a baby's skin. She laughed when Thatcher giggled as she flipped eggs over in the skillet while Jack finished toasting some slices of the sourdough bread Rosie had brought over a few days ago. And when Jack took Thatcher from her so she could finish her breakfast, Elizabeth couldn't help but stare in wonder at the sight of them as Jack walked up the stairs to change and dress Thatcher for the day. He made comical faces for Thatcher and their son rewarded Jack with loud, infectious laughter that echoed throughout the small row house.
It was then that Elizabeth glanced around the room. It was nearly empty, save for the small dining table she currently sat at.
Delicately, Elizabeth rubbed her hand against the scratched, aged wood of the tabletop. It was the same table from when she had first moved in with a newly widowed Abigail Stanton. Elizabeth gave a small smile as memories of those early days in what had once been Coal Valley. Of her first group of students that had lost far too much far too young. Of her uncertainty and her determination to endear herself to the tragedy stricken town… and Coal Valley to her.
A deep scratch underneath the soft skin of her palm caught Elizabeth's attention. She looked down at it fondly, remembering one of Abigail's many failed attempts at teaching a rich, city girl from Hamilton how to cook. The deep scratch under her hand was the product of such an attempt… that resulted in a blackened pot roast, a burnt tray of dinner rolls, and a hot dutch oven scraping across the table top. Elizabeth chuckled until she felt a stray tear hit the back of her hand.
She was crying….
How many memories filled this house? How many prayers had been lifted up under this roof? How many jokes were told and lullabies sang? How many painful disagreements fought and stolen kisses shared?
Elizabeth was ready to leave it, ready for her family to continue in a brand new house that already felt like home… and yet she cried for her little row house at the end of the street. The sweetest chapter of her life thus far had taken place while she lived under this roof.
She learned how to survive, no, thrive on her own, learned how to fix the wood stove or repair a crack in the kitchen sink basin. She finally mastered shepherd's pie and Abigail's chicken n' dumplings. Countless nights had been spent with Rosemary out on the back porch, drinking tea and gossiping like young school girls. Endless hours of grading papers and tests for her second year, third year… fifth year of students.
Jack had proposed to her over there in the parlor.
Their wedding night and so many beautiful nights after had been spent upstairs… and other places…. Thatcher had been born in the room just above her head. Such a beautiful, hard fought, and utterly treasured chapter of Elizabeth's life had been lived within these walls… and now that chapter was closing.
Elizabeth had been so lost in thought that she almost didn't hear Jack coming back down the stairs with a newly changed and dressed Thatcher listening intently to his father's every word.
"And after breakfast, you'll get to spend the whole day with Auntie Abigail while Mama and Papa go to work. Isn't that right, Mama?"
Elizabeth glanced over to Jack, attempting to push down the tears overwhelmingly close to falling from her cloudy sapphire eyes. But one look from him told Elizabeth that he already knew what was weighing on her heart… Jack always had been far too good at that.
"You know," he started, giving Elizabeth a little more time to collect herself (he knew she hated crying), "I will never forget the night Abigail invited me over without telling you."
A quick, hearty, watery laugh erupted from Elizabeth's lungs. She smiled softly at Jack, and he grinned lovingly right back, "I was already a little bit in love with you even though I didn't know it. And you were so…"
"Combative," Elizabeth supplied, an amused grin working its way onto her face.
"Well," Jack drawled, his warm smile growing by the second, "I was just going to say quarrelsome. But sure, we'll go with combative."
Another laugh escaped Elizabeth as Jack continued, "but to be fair, I was also being a bit of a -"
"Pompous prig?" Elizabeth interrupted, earning a wide eyed chuckle from her husband.
"I believe you hit the nail right on the head, Mrs. Thornton."
Elizabeth smiled and rose up from her seat at the dining room table to walk over to Jack and Thatcher, "To be honest, I couldn't decide for most of the night if I want to slap you or kiss you."
Jack chuckled at that, "I know the feeling."
Once she was standing in front of him, Jack wrapped his free arm around Elizabeth's slim waist as Thatcher practically lunged for her.
"We've had an amazing start to our life here, darlin'. And it's only going to continue."
"I know," Elizabeth replied softly as the tears she thought she'd tamped down suddenly were fighting their way up her throat, "and I'm so excited for all of it. I'm just going to miss this place."
Jack placed a calming kiss on her temple, breathing in the scene of her hair for just a moment in an attempt to settle the tears now forming in his eyes, "I know, darlin'. I know. But soon we'll be all moved into Thornton Manor and we'll be so busy we won't even have time to think straight, let alone be sad about leaving this place."
Elizabeth looked up at Jack, slightly shocked but mostly confused, "Thornton Manor?"
It was now Jack's turn to give out a hearty laugh, "Did I not tell you about that?"
Elizabeth's shook her head, confusion settling further into her gaze, so Jack continued, "Right before your father left, he called the house Thornton Manor. I'm fairly confident that it was just a joke but I honestly couldn't tell. I can't half the time with him anyway. But ever since then, I've been calling it that in my head. I guess it just slipped out."
Elizabeth chuckled before placing a soft kiss on his cheek, slightly rough with morning stubble, "Well, Captain Thornton. Why don't you finish getting ready? The sooner you catch the bad guys the sooner we can finally move into Thornton Manor. Sound like a plan?"
"Sounds like a great plan," Jack replied softly before planting a kiss onto her lips.
The couple giggled as Thatcher launched himself to Jack, his head nearly socking his father in the mouth.
"Okay, my boy! Okay. One for you too."
He planted a loud kiss on Thatcher's chubby cheek before blowing a raspberry into the crook of the baby's neck, eliciting a riotous cackle from his son.
"Alright, Thatcher," Elizabeth started as she pulled Thatcher away while Jack ran up the stairs to shave and get dressed, "let's let Papa finish getting ready for work. Then, you and I are going to go into town and you're going to spend the day with Auntie Abigail while Mama goes to school. And once school's over and Papa's done with work, we'll all go to our new home! Thornton Manor!"
"Be careful," Elizabeth heard Jack shout from their bedroom upstairs, "If you say it too many times it's going to catch on!"
Humor and affection laced her every word as Elizabeth shouted back up to him, "Quit dawdling and finish getting ready, Jack!"
"Yes ma'am."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly as she turned her attention back to Thatcher, "Your papa is far more ridiculous than most people think. But he's also rather wonderful, so I think we'll keep him around."
Maybe if she said it enough it would be true.
And then, after so many blissful hours and magical moments without them, doubt suddenly settled back into Elizabeth's mind and fear encompassed her heart….
Dear God, please… please, let it be true.
"Okay!" Jack called out as he ran down the stairs, "are we ready to go?"
Elizabeth nodded and turned her gaze to see Jack land at the bottom of the stairs and…. not in his red serge.
Maybe it was the fact that he always left two or three buttons open, so she could see his sun-kissed skin (though a little paler than normal since he'd been recovering from his injuries). Maybe it was the fact that the light blue cotton button down somehow made the cool tones of his hazel eyes shine. Maybe it was the fact that it was the same color shirt he was wearing when he first took her out on their pond. Perhaps it was the vest that he always seemed to wear when he was feeling particularly bold (when he pulled her behind Abigail's cafe for a quick, heated kiss, or reached across her lap to hold her hand through an entire church service on Sunday). Whatever the reason, she loved that shirt, she loved that vest. The mere sight of him them always lead to an unstoppable grin blossoming on her lips….
Except now it made the fear and doubt she'd been pushing down for the past week settle in the pit of her stomach. Elizabeth knew it was completely irrational… childish even, but she had always treated Jack's serge like it was his armor. As if the scarlet hue could stop bullets (the matching scars on Jack's shoulder and abdomen, and the slightly deformed tip of his ear proved that wasn't true). That the thick wool of it and the satin lining that touched his skin could fight the bitter cold and keep him warm and safe (the memory of his lips, still painfully blue days after he'd returned, served as a horrible reminder of the contrary).
That bright red coat served as a comforting symbol to those who believed in all that it stood for and a steadfast warning to those that didn't. When Jack put on his serge, there was a clear divide. He was no longer Jack Thornton… or maybe he wasn't just Jack Thornton. He was Captain Thornton of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, a decorated and respected officer of law, order, and protection.
Maybe that was his armor… the fear and reverence the uniform afforded him. And if that scarlet serge couldn't keep Captain Thornton safe… how could a favorite shirt and well-worn vest? If that Mountie uniform couldn't protect him from gun runners and drug traffickers then how could something so common place as a thin cotton shirt and a weathered tweed vest?
"Why aren't you wearing your serge," Elizabeth hated herself for not masking the fearful tremor in her voice as she watched Jack walk to the coat rack, pulling his canvas jacket on with ease (not even a grimace when rotating his previously wounded shoulder).
With a final tug, the jacket fit squarely on his shoulders, though the arms were still a little too loose (he was still a little too thin but between her, Abigail, and Rosemary, he was bulking back up to a healthy weight) and Jack moved to take Thatcher from her arms so Elizabeth could pick up her grade book and lesson plans off the desk.
"I'm still waiting for my new one to arrive," he said so off-handedly that Elizabeth would have been insulted by it if she hadn't been so annoyed with herself for forgetting why he even needed a new one. His old serge had been so battered, so blood stained, that no amount of washing and mending could save it. And the same had almost been true for him. How could he be so cavalier about it? Once again, fear and doubt bubbled up in her throat and Elizabeth just wished she could just stop thinking!
"Apparently there's a shortage of wool right now," Elizabeth had been so wrapped up in her tumultuous thoughts that she hadn't realized Jack was still talking, "something to do with the army and navy requesting a larger supply. I don't know why though… unless the United States suddenly decides to declare war on us, I doubt the infantry is going anywhere. Are you ready to go?"
Elizabeth nodded mindlessly, still stupidly fixated on Jack's lack of uniform.
"Elizabeth?" Jack called out, suddenly aware of the distress she'd worked so hard to hide from him, "are you okay?"
A mirthless laugh was all Elizabeth could muster as an answer to his ridiculous question. How could she possibly be okay? How was any of this okay? How could any of this be happening? Why was any of this happening?
Jack watched, concern etched on his face as Elizabeth stood at her desk, staring at the papers under her hands. Her head was hung low and tears were in her eyes.
"Darlin'?" Jack spoke softly, unsure of what to do.
Elizabeth's lip trembled slightly at the sound of his voice. She raised her head and steadied herself before turning to look at her bewildered husband and blissfully ignorant son. She forced a small smile as she searched Jack's face, unsure of how to begin… or if she should say anything at all, "I… we've had such a wonderful morning…" she tore her gaze from him and looked down as she fiddled with her engagement and wedding ring. That ever present fear and doubt began to bubble up in her throat, "I don't want to ruin it," she nearly whispered.
"You could't. Not ever."
His words were so resolute, so sure, so utterly true. Just like him.
Elizabeth looked back up to find a sad, tender smile on his face, with Thatcher nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder.
She took in a deep, steadying breath.
"I know…"
She took in another deep breath as she fiddled with her rings one last time.
"I know you it's not fair to ask you to, but," Elizabeth spoke softly as she looked over at her husband, "please Jack… please… promise that when I go to sleep tonight, that you'll be beside me. That we'll be in our new home with Thatcher sleeping just down the hall. Please promise me that you'll be safe and you won't do anything noble or brave. Just… promise me."
Elizabeth was startled to find tears welling up in her husband's eyes.
Jack walked away from the front door, past Elizabeth, and gently placed Thatcher into his high chair at the foot of the dining table. The babe seemed to be content for now, though Jack knew it wouldn't last long. It seemed that Thatcher had inherited his father's restlessness while indoors.
He turned to Elizabeth and grasped her hands. The calloused pads of his thumbs rubbed gently against the soft skin of her hands, quietly admonishing himself for not noticing sooner just how worried Elizabeth actually was about today. He'd been so focused, so determined not to show his own worry about what the day could bring that he'd completely blinded himself to his wife's suffering, and what's worse… might have even added to it.
Jack had tried to appear calm and collected, as if his work was as simple and straightforward as his morning rounds through town with Corporal VanNoppen or his end of day debrief with Bill and Constable Roy. As if his forced demeanor and optimism in the plan he, his fellow Mounties, and Abigail had formulated those few short weeks ago would help Elizabeth believe in it too. That if she believed in it, maybe she wouldn't be so worried about how the day would end.
He hadn't shaved because she always said he seemed more relaxed and content when he had a little stubble (never mind the fact that his hands were shaking this morning and Jack didn't trust himself not to scratch up his entire face). He'd even worn one of her favorites shirts of his, as well as the vest she seemed to like best on him (the one he always seemed to be wearing when she felt the need to pull him in for a quick, searing kiss). As if those memories could convince her (and him) that there were many more days to make even more memories with him wearing that pale blue shirt and gray tweed vest.
But it didn't… he saw now that it only reminded her of everything there was to lose….
So Jack looked up from their joined hands and into her watery, sapphire eyes and for a moment, the world stopped. They spent a thousand moments, countless hours…possibly several sunlight days, simply taking in the sight of one another. And then Jack laid a hand on either side of her face as he placed an unbearably sweet and tender kiss onto Elizabeth's lips.
"I promise," Jack spoke softly, "that I will be careful. I promise to rely on those helping me and to be smart in whatever situation we find ourselves in today. I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that everyone comes out of this unharmed… including that bad penny of a business partner your father hired."
A relieved chuckle left her lungs and Elizabeth finally felt like she could breathe a little easier. He was being careful, she noticed, with what he promised to do. She knew he would be. But she loved him all the more for trying to get as close to her request as possible.
"I wouldn't mind it much if you landed a hit or two on that bad penny."
"More like four or five."
Another laugh escaped her lips, this one much more believable than the last, "how long do you think you'll be?"
Jack sighed, giving her another tender kiss, this time on her temple, "I honestly don't know. If all goes according to plan, it could all be wrapped up by late afternoon. But again, that's assuming that,"
"Everything goes according to plan," Elizabeth responded for him, earning a tiny, hopeful smile from Jack.
"Just… just go to school, mold those young, curious minds of yours and go make the world a little bit brighter. Let me worry about everything else."
"Jack, I've been nothing but worried for over a year now. I doubt I'd know how to function without worrying at this point."
"Which is exactly why it's time for me to do the worrying. We're a team, equal partners, and for too long you've been forced to carry that burden on your own. And I'm sorry for that, Elizabeth. I'm so sorry for that."
"Please don't apologize, Jack. That's life… that's our life. I'm always going to be worried for you. But please don't ever assume that my fear means I doubt you."
Jack gave her a tender smile before pulling her in for a gentle kiss.
And then Thatcher began to wail.
The young couple pulled away from one another, laughing sweetly as they did.
"Perfect timing as ever, m'boy," Jack mumbled against Elizabeth's lips.
Elizabeth smiled then, not quite as wide and bright as Jack was used to seeing on her, but it was a start.
"It's just as well," Elizabeth started, lifting the fussy child from his high chair, humming softly as Thatcher began to calm in his mother's arms, "if we don't leave now we're going to be late. And it just won't do for the teacher to be late for school, would it, Thatcher?"
"Then we best get going, Mrs. Thornton," Jack stated as he grabbed Elizabeth's papers and grade book, opening the front door for her and Thatcher.
"I'd say you're right, Captain Thornton," was Elizabeth's simple reply.
She stopped just before stepping outside of the row house and pulled on the lapel of his jacket, down for a quick, soft kiss.
Jack raised a hand and grazed her cheek, "I love you, Elizabeth Thatcher," he spoke softly… the words the same as the ones he whispered to her for the first time in a coal mine not so long ago.
My goodness… how far they'd come….
"I love you, too," Elizabeth replied, echoing her reply from that moment, before adding what she wished she'd said that day. Before they'd returned to the world outside, before Charles showed up and proposed to her… and how much more time together might they have had if not for that moment… it didn't matter, "I love you, Jack Thornton. I never thought it was possible to love someone as much as I love you."
Jack pulled her in for another kiss before she walked down the front steps with a babbling Thatcher in her arms. And with one last look at the warmly lit row house, Jack smiled once more and closed the door….
The glass panes of the door rattled softly as Tom shut the door behind him, but the sound echoed loudly in his ears….
Joshua was late.
He was supposed to meet Tom at the railway office over twenty minutes ago and still the man hadn't showed.
Something was wrong.
For a moment, Tom wondered if the man had decided to run, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Joshua had confessed to his crimes. He didn't want to get away with anything. He wanted it all to end.
No… something else had happened… and Tom needed to find out.
If only he could settle the erratic beating of his heart. If only his ears would stop ringing and the world would quiet for just a moment so he could bloody think. He could feel every uneven bend in the wood as he walked down the small set of stairs leading up to the railway office. He felt every crunch and roll of the rocks beneath his boots as he walked the path leading to the mess hall and workers tents.
It made his head spin, to be so painfully aware of everything around him.
"Don't panic if it happens," Jack stated calmly, "it's completely natural."
"It ever happen to you?" Tom muttered under his breath before taking a sip of tea.
"Quite often," he answered quickly before taking a swig of his own tea, "it's not a bad thing. It helps actually. Helps you focus… to figure out what to pay attention to. But it can overwhelm you if you let it."
A round of laughter behind Tom forced them both to turn their gaze to the back of the kitchen. Instantly, his mind and heart were put at ease as he watched his fiancé well and truly cackle at her sister and nephew. Elizabeth was making some ridiculous face at Thatcher, who apparently had never seen anything funnier in his entire life (though, to admit, it was entirely possible due to how young he was) and the little boy practically screamed with laughter. And Abigail watched over all of it fondly, every inch the loving matriarch as she scrubbed the last few dishes from the day, a blissful and contented smile plastered on her face.
She'd closed the cafe early so the entire Thornton clan could have a few hours of calm together before the chaos of tomorrow. And of course, Mayor Stanton felt it was absolutely necessary to go over the battle plans once more they all entered into the fray.
Questions had been asked and potential risks and problem areas had been ironed out. There was no more planning to be done, no more preparation they could do. All that was left was to was wait for tomorrow. And Tom had tried to be calm in the face of it all. He truly had.
But with each question Abigail had tossed about, each answer or counter question Jack had thrown out, it suddenly felt as if the walls were starting to close in. The loose collar of Tom's shirt felt as if it were tightening around his throat. And the fork in his grasp (the one he'd been using to take bites of the lemon cake Abigail had made just for him) started slipping when his hands began to sweat. He could feel the throbbing of his heart pounding on the sides of his head and the room began to spin.
Jack must have noticed the subtle change in his younger brother's demeanor (or Tom was being far less subtle than he'd hoped) and he asked Abigail for a moment alone with the younger Thornton.
"Just breathe, Tom," Jack spoke softly, his deep hazel eyes never leaving his brother's flushed face, "nice and slow. In and out."
It was then that Tom realized he'd stopped breathing.
But it didn't seem to phase Jack. He simply exaggerated the movement of his breathing, and Tom found himself mimicking him and without realizing it, was slowly breathing in and out. The walls began to retract, the sweat on his hands began to dry and his collar no longer felt over starched and stiff.
"There it is. Nice and easy."
Tom lowered his gaze, his eyes zoning out over a knot in the table top.
Slow and steady. In and out.
"It's surprising," Jack spoke softly, "how quickly it can come on. That tunnel vision."
Tom looked up from the table, "It's terrifying."
"Don't panic if it happens," Jack stated calmly, "it's completely natural."
"It ever happen to you?" Tom muttered under his breath before taking a sip of tea.
"Quite often," he answered quickly before taking a swig of his own tea, "it's not a bad thing. It helps actually. Helps you focus… to figure out what to pay attention to. But it can overwhelm you if you let it."
A round of laughter behind Tom forced them both to turn their gaze to the back of the kitchen. Instantly, his mind and heart were put at ease as he watched his fiancé well and truly cackle at her sister and nephew. Elizabeth was making some ridiculous face at Thatcher, who apparently had never seen anything funnier in his entire life (though, to admit, it was entirely possible due to how young he was) and the little boy practically screamed with laughter.
It was so utterly beautiful that it nearly broke Tom's heart to think how easily it could all slip away… how wrong things could go tomorrow.
The room started to spin again.
"How do I make sure not to let it overwhelm me?"
Tom couldn't help his exasperated tone and Jack couldn't help his slightly amused grin. It was oddly comforting to know that no matter how old they got, somewhere deep down, there was always a small part of Tom that was still a horribly impatient and impertinent boy. The man sitting in front of him would always be the kid who picked a fight in the school yard with the bully twice his size just to see if he could get out of the jam… and Jack would always be there to pull him up and help fight their way out of the problem, no matter how infuriated he might be once it was all over.
"It's different for everyone. I know for me, it's as if I suddenly notice everything all at once. Sounds are louder, light is brighter. Movements are faster, but it's like I'm moving just as quickly. So I focus in on one thing. Sometimes it's something around me, but most of the time it's my own heartbeat."
Jack slowly started to tap on the table, a slow, steady beat that Tom vaguely recognized but couldn't quite place.
"It's something constant, completely independent of your surroundings," Jack continued, as if he were recounting a bedtime story, one that was lulling Tom into a peaceful trance, "I just start listening to my heartbeat, start counting out the rhythm in my head until it's the only thing I hear. And then," Jack continued to tap out the soothing beat before he closed his eyes, "the world starts to slow down, but I'm still moving faster, and suddenly I can see everything I need to… I can focus… find what I need to see."
Jack stopped tapping out the rhythm on the table and opened his eyes to find Tom staring at him in awe.
"I don't know how you do it, Jack," was all Tom could think to say, "I don't know how you do this day in and day out."
A melancholy grin flashed across his brother's face and an unnamable pain settled in Tom's chest. It was the same look Jack would give him when they were younger, after the fights Tom would get into at school, or in quiet of his room after their ma yelled at him yet again for acting out in Sunday School. As if he'd failed Tom… failed their ma… their pa. Like he hadn't been able to protect him from the pain of the world… from himself.
Tom hated that look.
"You don't have to do this, Tom," Jack reassured his little brother, "Truly. We can figure something else out. There's still time."
"No there isn't. And we don't need to come up with anything else," Tom declared, staring directly into his brother's eyes.
"I can do this, Jack. I promise."
Jack stared right back, "I believe you, Tom. I do…. Just remember,"
"Nice and slow" Tom whispered to himself, "in and out."
Tom listened to the cacophony around him, the shouts of his fellow foremen, the muttering of the workers and random whistles and horns signaling material deliveries and equipment change outs. It rang harshly in his ears… but there it was… those heavy hammers hitting spikes… that steady beat underneath all the chaos.
The breath of the early morning Spring wind kissed his face as Tom made his way to the tent in the far corner of the west quadrant of worker's tents, drying the sweat that had begun to bead and trickle down his forehead only moments ago….
And those heavy hammers beat steadily with his heart.
But a chill had settled in Tom's chest… a cold sense of dread knotting in his stomach as he approached Joshua's tent. The flap of the opening billowed slightly, allowing a glimpse inside if the angle of the bystander was just right. Tom was only a few steps away when he noticed the pair of worn down workman's boots peaking out through the opening.
Tom froze…no. He needed to know… needed to find out what had happened to Joshua… he needed to know what to tell Jack.
Tom raised his hand and pulled back the flap of the tent and walked inside slowly….
Joshua Chang lay on the ground… dead. His eyes were bloodshot and his neck bent at an unnatural angle… Bile suddenly formed in the back of Tom's throat and all he wanted to do was run out of the tent and heave the contents of his stomach.
But he noticed something else.
Joshua's threadbare jacket was unbuttoned and the inside pocket and the pockets of his trousers had been turned out.
His rucksack had been dumped out and the contents scattered.
Someone had turned the place over….
"You must be Julie's fiancé, Tom Thornton," a voice from behind sent a chill in the air and a shiver down Tom's spine.
Tom turned slowly to find Charles Kensington tucked in the corner of the tent… a snarled grin plastered on his face, "We met once, I believe… in Hamilton."
"Yes," Tom answered as casually as he could muster while searching for a means of escape, "I believe you were one of the people trying to force Jack to stop his investigation to prove my innocence involving a car accident."
A rather unpleasant laugh escaped Charles as he moved away from the corner he'd been hiding in, "Yes, well… we had to protect the Thatcher name, didn't we."
It was meant to rile Tom up. He knew it. But he utter hypocrisy of the statement, considering all the damage the man had done to the Thatcher name, set Tom's teeth on edge.
"And look at what's happened to it," Charles continued, "Two of Hamilton's finest daughters from one of its finest families have landed here. A railroad town out West. One with a Mountie husband who will most definitely make her a widow… destitute and alone… not to mention their child. And the other…" Charles clicked his tongue and gave Tom a disgusted look, "the other throws her lot in with a rake turned…railroad foreman? Can't say I'm terribly surprised about that, though. Julie always was the stupid one"
"Yeah," Tom growled out his response, "to think, Elizabeth could have had a murderous drug lord for a husband. If only Julie was stupid enough to fall for your act, Kensington. She might have been able to talk her sister into marrying you instead."
He moved to sprint out the tent when Charles raised a hand and moved to block the entrance of the tent, "I'd consider my next move very carefully," Charles' voice was sharp, "we wouldn't want to make Julie a widow before she's even a bride. Would we?"
"What do you want?" Tom questioned calmly.
Charles' smarmy grin widened, "Oh I don't really think you're in the position to ask me anything, Mr. Thornton. In fact, I would be begging for mercy if I were you."
Just breathe, Tom. Nice and slow. In and out.
"On second thought," Charles continued, "you could always just let me walk out of here. Not say a word. I get to leave. You get to live. No one else has to die today."
Tom swallowed sharply, his eyes darting to the opening just behind Charles. The tent had been set up perfectly upon arrival. There were no gaps at the bottom, the heavy canvas pulled taught so no sides sagged or caved in. There was no space to push out of or ram his way through quickly without getting caught. No… his only way out of the tent was behind Charles. I get to leave. You get to live. No one else has to die today.
Just breathe, Tom. Nice and slow. In and out.
Tom looked back to Charles… the man who nearly cost him his brother… the murderer who nearly made Elizabeth a widow… who had almost taken away Thatcher's father.
Thatcher Thornton….
The sweet, innocent baby who somehow, without ever saying a single word to Tom, had stolen his heart and had him promising the world and sun and moon and everlasting protection and a million other impossible things to. That perfect, pure little boy who only deserved the best the world could give… had almost lost his father because of Charles Kensington. Charles Kensington had so very nearly forced his nephew into the life that had nearly destroyed Tom Thornton.
He knew what it was to lose a father… knew what it was to have a fully functioning, fully broken heart that refused to stop beating no matter how painful it felt. He knew the horrible sound of his mother's cries at night when she thought her children were asleep… when she thought she was finally safe to succumb to her grief in private, never knowing that her sons could hear her still… always wishing he could fix it somehow and alway knowing he never could.
Tom had wasted far too much of his life suffering the loss of his father… and this man… this monster….
I get to leave. You get to live. No one else has to die today.
How dare Charles Kensington even utter those words to him.
"I can't just let you walk out of here, Charles."
A horrible silence fell over the tent and Charles sickening smile disappeared.
The man's eyes glazed over, nearly turning black and his voice, already cold and distant, turned hollow, "well that's rather unfortunate, Tom. I do so hate to kill two men so early in the afternoon."
Tom steadied himself as Charles stalked over towards him…. and pulled out a knife….
"Something's not right," Jack spoke softly, the words tumbling out slowly, painfully.
"He could be behind schedule," Gowen rationalized, "he could have gotten stopped by someone in town, or maybe he and Joshua are still talking. We can't get jumpy, Jack."
Jack's jaw clenched painfully and faint trace of annoyance flashed across his face. He knew what Henry was doing. It's how his mind worked… to think rationally, to analyze potential outcomes. A line of reasoning that required emotional detachment: rapid cost benefit analyses to determine the best course of action as soon as possible. It's what made him a good businessman… and a good conman. Jack understood it. It was a skill that had been drilled into him at the academy and through years of missions and arrests and fire fights.
It had always amused Jack to think how similar the mind of a criminal and a Mountie actually were. They both had the invaluable ability to adapt to any situation. That same sharp, cunning mind that could read people, examine and break down any situation, and when all else failed… identify the best exit if a situation went south. Like two artists recreating the same image, one using pastels and the other watercolors. Both masterful and complicated and exceedingly different in result. It had always been a fascinating conundrum until Jack had seen the devastating effects of it. He had seen what happened when two adversaries, so similar in thought and action collided with one another…. it was nothing but carnage. Unnecessary, pointless, and useless destruction.
Jack had learned, painfully and at too high a cost, the danger of detachment. Compassion and instinct were essential. It wasn't rational thought that helped Jack understand Jeremiah Tremblay. Compassion was what fueled his efforts to earn a pardon for the man who would ultimately save his life. It wasn't detachment that had protected the fragile pieces of Jack's heart and soul. It was his inability to suppress his compassion and his deceptively soft heart that had prevented Jack from turning into the kind of man he never wanted to be. It wasn't rational thinking that had saved him in the Northern Territories, it was the horrible chill that would settle in his bones, that painful, inexplicable weight that would settle in his chest when danger was near.
It was the memory of chilly autumn evenings sitting on the porch with Lee, Rosie, and Elizabeth, with a tumbler of whisky in hand (and the humorous look of Elizabeth's pure displeasure at her one and only taste of it) that reminded Jack to find the joy in such simple moments. The memory of countless schoolyard scuffles and bar room brawls defending Tom that reminded Jack to give someone a second chance, to take just one more look at a situation to find the missing puzzle piece. And it was the memory of warm spring days in a rowboat, hidden from the world as he lay down, Elizabeth tucked into his side as she dozed and he enjoyed the symphony of the warblers singing, rippling water lapping at the hull, and a gentle hum of contentment as Elizabeth burrowed closer, wrapping her arm around his torso that reminded Jack to never become a man that Elizabeth Thatcher couldn't love.
"This is wrong," Jack said firmly.
He stood quickly, throwing his rifle over his shoulder, and began to walk to the horse he'd tied up just behind the line of trees. A strong push of his legs and pull of his arms had him up on the saddle in seconds.
"Stay here," he directed to Jeremiah, "if Charles' shows up, fire three shots. I'll turn around."
He gripped the reins and kicked hard on the beast's ribs, jolting Jack as the horse began to sprint away from the mines. Shouts from Gowen and Jeremiah faintly registered in his mind, but Jack paid no mind to them. He simply kept riding.
Jack knew it was irresponsible and unprofessional. He knew that he should have given Jeremiah further instructions, laid out a more detailed plan of attack. But Jeremiah would have asked questions, tried to reason with him. He would have thought Jack was jumpy, easily excited and a little apprehensive. It would be rational to assume Jack hadn't fully recovered mentally from his time in the Northern Territories… that he was scared of what might happen. Jeremiah would try and talk him down, help him settle and get his mind focused back on the mission at hand. It would be a completely reasonable and rational approach… and a complete and utter waste of time. There was no explaining an instinct that Jack didn't understand himself.
So Jack kept riding, ignoring the look of concern and confusion on Jeremiah's face as he fled. He shut out Gowen's grumbling and Jeremiah's shouts to come back to talk. There wasn't time to talk….
Elizabeth took a quick glance at the small clock at the corner of her desk and let a disappointed sigh. She had been hoping to finish grading the geography quizzes before leaving to pick up Thatcher so she could simply enjoy the evening with her family. But as the morning dragged along at a glacial pace, fear and doubt once again began to creep into her mind. As noon and the early hours after crept along with no word came from Jack or Jeremiah, Abigail or even Lee, Elizabeth's creative mind began to wander. Her imagination betrayed her, creating countless horrible scenarios… each one worse than the last. And now she sat at her desk, staring at a nearly untouched stack of papers to grade with hardly any time left before she needed to leave for Abigail's and retrieve her son… and Jack would be at home, waiting for them.
Dear God, please… please, let it be true.
"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
Elizabeth's hand stilled as the horribly familiar voice echoed painfully off the walls and windows of her schoolhouse. She took a single, calming breath before looking up.
Charles Kensington stood tall and proud… smug. His cold, narrow eyes studied the room before landing on Elizabeth. She watched as he sized her up, titling his head just a hair, smiling to himself ever so slightly.
Elizabeth knew that look.
It was possessive and full of barely concealed desire all wrapped up in the guise of a gentleman. Young men in the prominent families throughout Hamilton, Toronto and Ottawa had ogled and leered at her and her sisters since their debuts into society, as if they had every right to… as if they were on display for the amusement and imagination of high society men, young and old. It wasn't even the first time Charles had looked at her like that. She'd quickly grown a thick skin to it, become accustomed to brushing off the unwanted advances and flirtatious chats of the men hoping for a moment of her time… and sometimes more. And clearly as if the old woman was standing right behind her, Elizabeth heard the sound of her childhood governess ringing in her ear.
"Men will ogle, ladies," Ms. Findley's horribly shrill, yet bellowing voice would ring out "they will act as if they own your time. You must be approachable but not… welcoming. Be interesting without enticing. Remain calm and collected even if they make any forward attempts. You must be the picture of propriety in all of this if you're to find an agreeable match."
Elizabeth had always rolled her eyes at her ancient governess and her ancient ideas, even as she curtsied and smiled her way through season after season while living in Hamilton. It was an antiquated practice and Elizabeth had grown to disapprove, then dislike, and ultimately completely despise it by the time she'd loaded her belongings onto a stagecoach headed out west to a sleepy coal town in need of a new teacher.
And yet, as out of practice as she was, Elizabeth found herself settling back in to that perfected dance of demure smiles and fake timidity so as not bruise the fragile ego of the high society gentleman in front of her and force an unpleasant reaction. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her horrid governess as all of the dreadful lessons of her youth came flooding back.
"Charles," her voice was as sweet as honey and as fake as flowers in Ms. Findley's Sunday bonnet, "what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Hope Valley?"
Charles' beady eyes narrowed further while his smile grew a little more, "Same as always, you know. Business. Why else would I ever want to come to Hope Valley?"
The question was meant to get a rise out of her. Elizabeth clenched her jaw and took another breath, "Yes. I know it's not much compared to Hamilton. But between the railroad and the lumber mill, Hope Valley is growing by the day. It's on its way to being the… the Burlington of Alberta!"
Charles gave a weak grin that set Elizabeth's teeth on edge but said nothing in response.
"So… business," Elizabeth continued, "my father didn't mention anything about any business trips in his last letter."
"Well, the other partners and I have been taking on more responsibility," Charles replied as he started to walk around the school room, touching desk tops and forgotten papers, "since William decided to take step back so he and your mother could spend more time out here with you and Julie."
"And it's appreciated by all of us," Elizabeth attempted to compliment him, another lesson of Ms. Findley that Elizabeth could never seem to forget, "with everything that's happened this year, having them around so much has been an enormous help."
Charles looked up from his observation of the desk in front of him to study Elizabeth's well schooled features.
"Yes," an oleaginous grin flashed across his lips, "I heard about Jack. I'm sure having your mother and father here helped tremendously when dealing with a newborn child who's critically wounded father wasn't even conscious for his birth. But I'm glad to know you're not a widow just yet."
Elizabeth's blood ran cold.
The nerve of that man…. to even say Jack's name… to even mention Thatcher… that son of a —
Another deep breath….
He really was trying to get a rise out of her.
"Yes….well. Mother and Father were a tremendous help and Jack and I will be forever grateful to them for being here and to you and the other partners for working so hard to make that happen."
Charles laughed suddenly, a deep, hearty, maniacal laugh that shook Elizabeth to the core, "Oh my, Elizabeth… Ms. Findley would be so proud."
"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth
"Let's not play coy, we've known each far too long to not be honest with one another. And while I'll admit, it was mildly entertaining to watch you so admirably play the fool in all of this, do you really expect me to believe that Constable Thornton wouldn't tell you about what was happening today? Or how your father was helping?"
She hadn't expected that… and Charles knew it. He had her…. she had to think quickly, had to surprise him, catch him off guard…. She swallowed painfully and glanced down at the gun trained squarely at her head… and then to the shiny platinum cufflinks peaking out from the sleeves of his suit sleeves. Elizabeth took another calming breath before lowering her gaze and quickly jotting down a quick note on the paper she had been grading before Charles had walked into the schoolhouse.
"So you must want your missing cufflink."
Elizabeth could feel the air leave the room as Charles took in a shaky breath, "What did you say?"
Elizabeth looked up from her papers and made sure to hold Charles' hateful gaze, "Your onyx cufflinks, the ones my father gives to every new partner. The ones you accidentally left behind when you tried to kill my husband and the rest of his unit to cover your track in the Northern Territories. Captain Thornton didn't trust anyone with them, considering it was the only piece of evidence tying you to the crime scene. He didn't want to keep it in any kind of proximity to me or Thatcher, so he has been hiding them at our new home until we move in."
Charles stormed up to Elizabeth's desk, shoving the neatly stacked papers and pencils off, leaving them to scatter across the floor. He towered over the top of the desk and loomed menacingly over Elizabeth while she put forth a herculean effort to remain as calm as possible.
"You'll take me there. Right now," Charles ordered, his voice low and terrifying.
"I will do no such thing" Elizabeth's voice was strong and steady.
Charles smiled, his teeth bared like fangs, his words dripping off them like venom, "You will or I will cut your throat here and now. I don't care who hears, who sees. And then I'll ride right into town and find that little brat of yours and kill him too."
And then he teased the tip of his knife deep into Elizabeth's stomach, just beneath her rib cage. And for a moment she couldn't breathe. This wasn't the first time in her life she'd been threatened with the end of a knife. It wasn't the first time she'd been threatened with pain and death by a horrible man but surely, dear God, surely she hadn't been so utterly, completely wrong about Charles. Surely her entire family hadn't been duped by this man for nearly her entire life. There must have been something good left in him. He couldn't be so evil as to stoop so low to threaten to kill a defenseless child.
But then Elizabeth remembered the countless nights Jack had shot up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat as memories of decimated villages and townships served as the backdrop to his dreams. The screams of parents cradling the dead bodies of their children served as the symphony to his nightmares. And the crimson blood of the lives he took, the lives of the men responsible for the carnage and devastation he'd been forced to witness served as the terrifying scenery. No… Charles Kensington had no problem stooping to such a level.
"You and your son wouldn't be the first people I've killed. Hell, you wouldn't be the first people I've killed today."
Elizabeth's blood ran cold, "What are you talking about?"
Charles' smiled again, pressing his body closer to Elizabeth, shoving her against the wall and into the blackboard behind her, "I'm talking about that Chink, Joshua. And maybe your brother-in-law. Can't be certain. He sure was bleeding a lot after our fight. Not to mention when I smashed his head open. Sure made an awful loud crack when I clocked him in the back of the head with this."
Elizabeth swallowed painfully as she watched Charles fiddle with the large knife he's just had pressed against her ribs, the cold, shiny metal shimmering menacingly in the fading afternoon light. Oh Jack. Thatcher. How do we get out of this? God, help me get out of this.
Charles was too close, his body mere inches away now that she had nowhere else to go. His breath was hot against her face and his touch burned painfully against her. The cologne he wore reeked of exotic fragrances in an attempt to exude power and wealth. She nearly choked on it. His fingers brushed against Elizabeth's skin as he pulled a strand of her auburn hair loose, the skin of his hand smooth and perfect, too free of callouses and scars to have ever worked or struggled.
Elizabeth couldn't move, couldn't run…. only Jack had ever been this close to her before. He would never do this, never make her feel so trapped, so boxed in…so helpless.
Jack.
"Now," Charles spoke softly, calmly, curling the loose strand of her hair around his finger, "what is it going to be, Miss Thatcher?"
Elizabeth's gaze shot up in a fury, meeting Charles' in direct challenge, "my name is Elizabeth Thornton."
Charles ground his teeth as he released the tendril he'd been toying with, deciding to grasp Elizabeth's neck, pressing around it slightly, "Tell me, Elizabeth Thornton, are you going to take me there? Or do I need to pay your boy a visit?"
Charles moved the knife and pressed the blade against the skin of her throat.
Elizabeth made her decision.
"Follow me," she said, calmly, "we'll go out the back way. So no one sees."
Rosemary Coulter hummed to herself as she breathed in the fresh, Spring air. The sun, while not as high as it had been earlier in the afternoon, still towered above and the light of it warmed her face as she crossed the street. She'd hoped to catch Elizabeth walking back from the schoolhouse on her way to pick up Thatcher and coax her over for a cup of tea, distract her with the gossip she'd picked up from customers at the boutique. Not to mention spend a little extra time with her godson.
Rosemary smiled as a rambunctious Cody and Robert sprinted past her, baseball gloves, bat, and ball in hand, before turning down the street to meet up with their friends in front of Abigail's Cafe.
"I'm pitcher!" Cody shouted out as the group ran off to the field out back… the one that Hope Valley Town Council had declared the town's ball field a few weeks ago.
She laughed softly as little Opal cried out, "I want to bat first," her tiny legs moving quickly as she tried to keep up with the rest of the group.
With that, the children were out of sight as Rosemary turned the corner, the schoolhouse in full view… and then she saw them.
Elizabeth… being pulled roughly behind a man… Charles Kensington!
Without thinking, her feet were moving her towards the schoolhouse as Rosemary began to run to her friend….
Elizabeth grimaced as Charles' grip on her arm tightened even more, causing the bruise that had already formed to darken further.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen them leave the schoolhouse… please God don't let any of the children come back here.
And then she saw her… Rosemary Coulter, her friend… her sister, sprinting over to stop help her.
Dammit.
Elizabeth couldn't call out to her, tell her to stop. Not without alerting her captor. She glanced over at Charles… he hadn't seen her.
Elizabeth looked back to Rosemary and shook her head profusely, begging the woman to stop… don't come after me. Please!
Rosemary stopped suddenly. And even though the distance between them was substantial, the confusion on the woman's face was clearly evident.
Elizabeth wished she could explain, wished she could call out and tell her to find Jack, to stay with Thatcher…
"Come on." Charles growled, pulling her in front of him and flashing his knife in the process, "we can't dawdle, Mrs. Thornton."
Rosemary stood in the middle of the street, dumbfounded as to what she'd just witnessed. Confusion clouded her mind as she watched Elizabeth disappear over the hill behind the schoolhouse.
Elizabeth didn't want her to follow, didn't want her to put herself into harm's way… but…
"To hell with that."
Rosemary didn't bother with the pretense of acting normal as she ran across the street to the lumber mill office. She would take the car from Lee….
There was no way on earth she was going to leave Elizabeth to deal with that man alone.
