Special Note to Readers: Thanks to the good offices of the writer ChocolateIsMyDrug, I recently found out that this site removed ALL the asterisks I had used as line breaks in my stories. As a result, many of the scene changes in my stories are not showing up. So bear with me while I go through the work of the past months and years to clean up and insert the necessary breaks.

Many, many thanks for all the reviews, interest, and support.

To fight out a war, you must believe something and want something with all your might. So must you do to carry anything else to an end worth reaching. More than that, you must be willing to commit yourself to a course, perhaps a long and hard one, without being able to foresee exactly where you will come out. All that is required of you is that you should go somewhither as hard as ever you can. The rest belongs to fate. Oliver Wendell Holmes

Chapter 19: The Mighty Heart

He had cried, of course. He had known full well that as soon as he tried to explain to Mr. Carter what had happened, he wouldn't be able to hold back his tears.

But Mr. Carter was not like Dada, or even Mum. Dada would have told him to be silent, to go on now, and Mum would have stroked his hair and said he shouldn't worry – that is, if she'd had time to comfort him at all.

Mr. Carter had offered Harry his handkerchief and then listened.

"What did you say to her, Harry?" Mr. Carter tried to speak as softly as possible, so as not to trouble the boy further, and yet the words sounded gruff, accusatory.

Harry, his head bowed, could not speak for a moment. At last he murmured, "I told her Dada said they tied you down and – "

He couldn't continue, and Mr. Carter kept silence while Harry wept. Then the boy looked up at him. "She cried when I said that."

"Harry, what you don't understand is that Miss Galindo was there." His tone had suddenly become gentle, so gentle he astonished himself.

The boy's eyes widened. "She saw it when you – she saw it when they – "

"No, she was in the next room, with Lady Ludlow. They waited – they waited for the doctors to finish." They no doubt heard everything, though.

"She said she wished she could stop it," Harry added, watching Mr. Carter's expression.

"Stop what, Harry?" said Mr. Carter.

"What the doctors did to you." He added, "She said you had no choice, and you were brave."

Mr. Carter closed his eyes. Brave. Dear God, no. No, not at all, not at all.

"And she said you might have died," Harry added quietly. His tears had stopped, but there was still pain in his eyes.

"That's all true, Harry," said Mr. Carter. "Well, not the part about my being brave." And he managed a wintry smile, which the boy was still too distraught to take for comfort. "Harry, what you must understand is that Dr. Harrison and Dr. Marshland did their best, and that I am a very fortunate man to have come through such an operation."

"That's what Miss Galindo said, and Mr. Beckett too."

"Well, then we are all agreed," said Mr. Carter, again with a sort of grim contentment.

"No, sir." Harry felt emboldened. "Miss Galindo said you deserved better, and that you thought of other people when you were in pain yourself."

It was a moment before Mr. Carter could speak again. "Did she tell you anything else?"

"She said she wished you hadn't suffered, sir. She said she'd have paid any price to stop it." And at that he shyly looked Mr. Carter in the eye.

Harry, I would have spared you that. God knows what your father has been saying to you, though I can easily guess why.

And still Miss Galindo cannot have told you everything, neither all that was said nor all that was done. Surely she would not have.

And you weep now. And if I'd died? If I'd died, you'd surely have wept then, and yet I'd have still left you reason enough to rejoice. It might have been easier then for you, Harry, and perhaps for everyone.

And yet Morgan spoke some nonsense about my being spared for a higher purpose. Well, maybe it is time to prove him right.

It grieved Mr. Carter that Harry had been brought to weep, and on his account. Why torment the boy? What possible good could that do? But he had cried, and Mr. Carter had attempted to reassure him.

Harry's tears were troubling enough, but what of his account of a weeping Miss Galindo? That could not be so, not so many months later, and yet Harry would not lie. In fact he'd been so distraught he'd felt compelled to confess. Miss Galindo in tears.

Mr. Carter willed himself back into the memory of that day the previous spring. They'd brought him back from the site of the explosion and taken him right to Dr. Harrison's door, where Miss Galindo had appeared out of nowhere. She must have been there in the street when the cart carrying him and Captain Brown had arrived.

The men had brought him inside and left him lying on the table, and he'd sent Miss Galindo off to perform several commissions, but not without remembering to ask her to return to him with a pen and ink.

And so she had come back to where he was lying and fulfilled the last of the tasks he'd set her. She was most businesslike, if decidedly pert, but she did everything he asked.

And he had taken her into his confidence, revealing not only the terms of his will but another, bleaker secret: He had seen his likely fate, he told her, and would not allow her to disclose that to Harrison by asking him to witness the document. She would have to sign it herself.

And when it came time for him to write his own name above hers, his hand was so unsteady that she gently guided him through the signature. In that moment he felt her caress – a gesture of comfort to a dying man, he believed at the time, and yet when he thought of it now he recognized its tenderness.

He had looked up at her and found her face contorted, as if with pain. She was nearly in tears -- so sad, yet so beautiful. This is, perhaps, the last face I shall see on this Earth, he'd thought.

But he forced himself to remember beyond that – his descent into agony, then merciful unconsciousness. His wretched, maimed self strapped on that table, as Harrison, Marshland, and Miss Smith worked to save him.

And pitiful though he was, his heart had endured, and he awoke to life, and to Miss Galindo waiting still, remaining by his side the entire night.

That Harry could speak of it now, so many months later, and bring her to tears astonished him. Mr. Carter had seen Miss Galindo cry only once before, at her shop, when he had appeared to confront her about leaving Hanbury, and she'd reproached him for his lack of trust in her. Well, he wasn't having that; he had said in response –

Oh, was he that damnably obtuse?

On that occasion he'd made an oblique reference to the will, to the operation itself, and she had cried, cried there and then in her shop, while he stood helplessly by.

A torrent of confidences, then a torrent of tears, and he had understood nothing of it then, nothing! There had been such a troubled yet powerful intimacy between them on that day, and he'd thought her merely overwhelmed by her emotions, or perhaps wounded by his tactless words. Well, she'd been vulnerable, and he had said the wrong thing, but he hadn't understood how wrong.

In this life everything that lives needs care, needs attention to thrive – an apple tree, a colt, a child. Perhaps even the plans, the unspoken wishes within the human heart.

Morgan was right; best to start finding out to what purpose I live, and for whom.

I must see her tomorrow. I must see her.

It was an ill omen, thought Lady Ludlow, that Mr. Carter should seek to address her on an urgent matter so early on a Monday morning. It could mean nothing other than bad news.

And it would not take her long to learn if that was so. For all that it was Mr. Carter's duty to please her, and thus to read her moods, she'd become quite adept at divining what was amiss with him – no simple task with such a reserved man.

This morning, to her surprise, he seemed in tolerably good spirits, if also as serious of mien as ever. She very much suspected he was turning over some plan within his mind, and it appeared it was not an unpleasant scheme, at that, if the sense of endearing, almost boyish enthusiasm was any indication.

"Mr. Carter."

"My lady." He bowed.

"This is a most unusual appointment, Mr. Carter. Can there be trouble already at Hanbury, so early on a Monday morning?"

"Oh, no, my lady, nothing is wrong. I merely needed to speak to you on a matter of some delicacy."

"Indeed?" Her eyebrows lifted. "Go on, Mr. Carter."

"My lady, I beg your leave to travel to Manchester tomorrow to deal with several matters concerning my personal accounts – at least one of them a project we have discussed before." He had not the heart to be explicit concerning the school, or for that matter his other affairs, but he thought it unfair to conceal his intentions.

Her expression betrayed no emotion. "Then you intend to proceed with your plan?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I have not altered my opinion, Mr. Carter, not completely, but I can assure you that if I cannot offer my sanction, I will at least present no obstacles."

"Thank you, my lady." He was unsure whether to dare the next sentence, then decided to proceed. "I beg you to the consider the possibility that you might allow me to assume the burden – "

Here at last was emotion. "Mr. Carter, I cannot find it in my heart to regard those young girls as a 'burden.'"

"Please, my lady. That is not what I meant. I meant they would be educated elsewhere, and someone else would assume the expense."

"Mr. Carter, I know what you meant, and my answer is the same. My charitable school will remain."

"As you wish, my lady." His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted as he contemplated another awkward subject. "And as to another matter, the expenses you incurred during my – "

"That too is a subject on which I refuse to admit discussion." Her voice was soft, and a shadow passed over her face. Then it gave way to a smile – a faint smile, perhaps, but a smile nonetheless. "I am sorry, Mr. Carter. It seems I would thwart you at every turn."

Not at every turn, he thought. Not in all things. For he hadn't told her the minute details of the business that he would be conducting in Manchester on the morrow, and in Cranford on this very day.

"Now, as to your journey, will you be departing at once?"

"Oh, no, I had rather thought tomorrow, if it is agreeable to your ladyship."

"Mr. Carter, I trust your discretion," she said with something very like warmth. "And I wish you Godspeed, whatever the course you are undertaking."

"Thank you, my lady."

And so all must change. I cannot stop him, but then perhaps I would not stop him. His heart is set on this, and can it be wrong, when he is such a just man?

Perhaps it cannot, when he might have fallen into despair, or rather remained in despair. You have such a tremendous will, Mr. Carter. Perhaps that is what has saved you – that and your heart.

And so now everything changes, and yet I do not feel dread. Curious.

She had spent much of the morning cutting, stitching, and trimming, and yet there remained so much work before her today. A parade of clients would be arriving shortly, beginning with Mrs. Robinson and her two young daughters – well-behaved girls, it was true, but fitting caps and bonnets for children always remained a challenge -- and there would no doubt be other tasks, and unexpected interruptions besides.

Still, Miss Galindo had set her heart on sharing tea with Mrs. Morgan by late afternoon. It was a ritual they'd both come to enjoy; it fairly restored one's spirits. Yes, she must take tea with her friend, no matter what the day held.

But now she knelt on the floor of the shop and examined the materials that had arrived that morning. At such moments she missed the luxury of an assistant, someone to run errands and store fabric and serve as a second pair of hands. But Anthony Beckett was long gone, and as good a man as he was, trouble had attended their entire association.

So today she once again found herself alone in her shop, alone at her work, and while she was yet on her knees, there came a soft but insistent tapping. As she looked up, the door opened, and Edward Carter walked into her shop for only the third time in their acquaintance.

The very sight of him stirred too many emotions – comfort at his dear, familiar presence; pleasure in the same; suspense as to why he had even come to see her.

And the disconcerting realization that she was before him on her very knees, and wearing this prim, prosaic white apron. Quite the little milliner, as he'd have no doubt reminded her.

It was an oddly humbling, remarkably intimate moment, and yet within her heart she felt a bold acceptance of her lot and how she made her living. There should be no illusions between them. She would feel no shame.

There she was before him, in that modest purple dress of hers, that little white apron, and she was on her knees – on her knees! He thought again of the confrontation they'd had less than a year ago. She hadn't wanted to be a milliner, she'd told him; she hadn't even wanted to be his clerk; and yet want of money had made her the former, and the influence and plans of Lady Ludlow had made her the latter.

What do you want to be, Miss Galindo? He'd not asked her. He'd never thought to ask her. But with no money, no home, no family, and only Lady Ludlow for an ally, Miss Galindo had accepted her fate. It pierced his very heart.

"Mr. Carter." She had been startled but evidently was not resentful of the intrusion – her smile was warm, genuine – and she made as if to rise to her feet. He stepped forward and put out one gloved hand to lift her up.

He stood over her in greatcoat and top boots, and for a moment the room, this decidedly feminine sanctuary, seemed filled with his presence, his very being.

And with that voice of his as well. "Miss Galindo – "

She loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. His voice fairly lilted when he said it. Galindo.

"Miss Galindo, please excuse me for interrupting you, and without notice."

"Oh, no, Mr. Carter, you are most welcome," she said. She was the one who was blushing, who was awkward, for all that he'd entered an unaccustomed setting.

"Won't you sit down?" About the room were spindly, ridiculous chairs of the sort ladies used at fittings – hardly built to accommodate Mr. Carter, and yet he accepted the proffered chair and sat down opposite her.

"I had to see you today, Miss Galindo, before I set off on my journey," he said, pulling off his gloves.

"Your journey?" she said, unable to avoid a note of dismay in her voice.

"Oh, it is not far," he said, the expression in his eyes mild, reassuring. "Only to Manchester! I must see to a few matters, and not concerning Hanbury Court, either."

"Surely you refer to the school, Mr. Carter. You mean to go forward?"

"Yes, yes." But not only with that.

"Then I surmise, Mr. Carter, that you have spoken to Lady Ludlow." Miss Galindo's eyes betrayed concern.

"I have. She countenances the plan, Miss Galindo; she does not sanction it. But what say you?" he added, softly.

"I am pleased for you, and yet I wonder if you may yet encounter disapproving souls quite apart from Lady Ludlow." She added, "I do not say that to discourage you."

"But what of your own opinion, Miss Galindo?"

"Surely it is not for me to say whether you should proceed now or no."

"On the contrary, I would prefer you to be frank."

"Upon my word, Mr. Carter, apart from Lady Ludlow, no woman wields such power in this community."

At that he smiled, and she couldn't decide if he was indulging her or keeping his temper in check. "Indeed I have tremendous regard for the women of Cranford, and credit them with their own style of power. But you have not answered my question, Miss Galindo."

"Very well. Do you intend this school for girls as well as for boys?"

"Of course," he said. Then he added playfully, "We have had this conversation before, Miss Galindo."

She smiled back at him. "I was not sure you remembered that, nor I was I certain I could hold you to your promise."

The expression in his eyes was all at once serious. "Let me assure you that it is quite within your power to hold me to a promise." And at that a potent silence fell between them, and he seemed to be turning something over in his mind. "Miss Galindo, I must – "

At that instant the door opened, and Mrs. Robinson, a smartly dressed matron with two young daughters, entered the shop. The little girls bobbed up and down – the younger one shy, fairly clinging to her mother's skirts, and the elder very much a little old woman, gravely inclining her head as she made her curtsy to Miss Galindo and the tall man wearing the greatcoat.

Poor Mr. Carter felt himself at once outnumbered, even thwarted, but nodded graciously to the lady and her children. Damn it, now he would have to extract himself, take his leave, and yet he'd had so much more to say.

He had risen to his feet, then turned to Miss Galindo with a smile, and she couldn't quite read the expression in those blue eyes – was he amused? Annoyed? No matter; he had been about to say something interesting, and her responsibilities had interrupted him. If Miss Galindo had been given to oaths, she should have surely have uttered a silent one at that.

"Miss Galindo, I have stayed too long" – No, I have barely begun, damn it, but there's nothing else I can say – "and mustn't keep you from your clients. But perhaps tomorrow morning at Hanbury, before I take my leave, we might speak again – "

"Yes, yes, of course. I will be at my desk early –"

"That I may give you further guidance. Yes. Well, then we are agreed." He shook Miss Galindo's hand formally, and then turned to acknowledge the Robinsons. In an instant he had collected hat, gloves, and walking stick, and vanished from the shop, leaving it curiously empty, for all that it was filled with people.

It took all of Miss Galindo's will to smile at Mrs. Robinson and the little girls, to listen politely while they made their requests and spun their plans, to show them fabric and straw and pretty ribbons.

She paid little attention to any of it. In her heart she was traveling down a street in Cranford, following a tall man in a greatcoat, and if she wasn't careful, she'd make the journey all the way to Manchester.

No conversation with Miss Galindo ever went precisely as planned, and today was no exception.

And that was entirely his fault. It had been incautious of him to appear at her doorstep unannounced and assume she'd be free to listen, or to speak to him. But she'd received him so kindly, with such a smile, with warmth, that all the frustration he felt at departure was intensified. Everything within him was commanding him to turn around and enter the shop again, even if he must stop her in the midst of her work.

Still, there was tomorrow. He's see her again tomorrow, and this time they'd not be interrupted.

It was always a treat to take tea with Mrs. Morgan on a weekday afternoon, and by now it had also become a regular practice. After Mr. Carter's highly eventful visit to Miss Galindo's shop the previous autumn, the two women had sealed a friendship over refreshments and confidences, and had simply continued their tea table meetings, always with the knowledge that any secrets they uttered would never reach the ears of less discreet souls.

It was not lost on Mrs. Morgan that Miss Galindo's own vulnerability had given rise to their intimacy, and half out of a desire to confess, half out of empathy, she had provided an account of her own romantic misadventures of the previous year.

Miss Galindo had never possessed an appetite for gossip, of course, and had thus overlooked the confusion attending Dr. Harrison's first twelve months in town, including the misbegotten episode that that left no fewer than three ladies persuaded they'd secured his affections. That the matter concluded happily, with three weddings, and not the formal expulsion of Dr. Harrison from their midst, was remarkable in itself.

By now Mrs. Morgan could laugh, though not without a blush, at her own part in the business. That she could imagine young Dr. Harrison was wooing her, especially when it was plain that he had quite lost his heart to Miss Hutton! It was really too absurd.

Miss Galindo rather suspected Mrs. Morgan's pronounced if light-hearted self-reproach was meant to reassure her about all that had gone very wrong these past months. Why, if her poor, deluded self could emerge unscathed, so too could Miss Galindo.

And surely it was one of the great ironies of Cranford that two such quiet women, a Scottish widow and a spinster milliner, should have in the course of a single year drawn so much unwanted attention and outright humiliation. Yet Mrs. Morgan had emerged from her ordeal with dignity wounded but intact, and a husband at her side. Miss Galindo had neither such security nor such status, and did not care to think what some of the less charitable members of the community might yet be whispering about her.

Still, Miss Matty Jenkyns, Miss Smith, and Mrs. Gordon had been all kindness, and their opinions, particularly Miss Matty's, held some sway in the community. And Lady Ludlow and Mr. Carter had made their own quiet efforts on her behalf, and Miss Galindo was ever conscious of the debt she owed to them.

Mr. Carter. Today he had presented fresh reason to serve as a topic of discussion at their tea table, and yet Miss Galindo was mindful that he had not given her leave to reveal all concerning his plans. So she contented herself with the vaguest description of his visit to the shop, a mention that he had sought her opinion on one or two matters.

Mrs. Morgan looked decidedly thoughtful at the news. "But he is not wont to visit you at your place of business, Miss Galindo," she said. "He must have had a particular reason for coming to see you this morning."

"Truth to tell, Mrs. Morgan, I do not believe he had addressed all his concerns by the time he took his leave. We were interrupted, you see, in the course of our tête-à-tête."

"But surely he left some indication – "

"None that I can see, Mrs. Morgan. Still, perhaps he will address it on the morrow, at Hanbury. I always go there on Tuesdays, you know, and he will no doubt speak then."

"Perhaps." Mrs. Morgan took a sip of tea. "Well, he has sought your opinion, and that provides some indication of his regard."

"Regard? Oh, surely not, Mrs. Morgan."

Mrs. Morgan smiled. "Have you ever known a man to do anything other than exactly what he wished?"

"Yes, often, if he was under someone else's command." And Miss Galindo thought of servants and soldiers and shop assistants, and of Mr. Carter at the beck and call of Lady Ludlow.

"And who ordered Mr. Carter to see you? Surely not Lady Ludlow, and Her Majesty is not at home here in Cranford."

"No. All has changed now that we have lost Miss Jenkyns – "

"You tease, Miss Galindo, but I am in earnest. I cannot divine Mr. Carter's intentions, but surely he came to see you for a reason."

Tuesday morning. Miss Galindo had pens at the ready, ink at the ready, a ledger awaiting additions, correspondence to be addressed.

She was at her desk, and there was no Mr. Carter to be seen.

Well, she must not remain idle. First she would see to the fire and then --

From the hallway there was sound of a walking stick tapping the floor, and of footsteps, a man's footsteps. It was not Lady Ludlow but Mr. Carter approaching.

Miss Galindo looked up from the fire and saw him enter the room. He was dressed for the journey, and she could almost feel his impatience, his agitation.

But he smiled at her, smiled at her in the firelight, in the February sunshine streaming into the room. "Miss Galindo, I am glad you are so prompt." He stepped over to where she was standing beside the grate. "I so wanted to speak to you before I went to Manchester."

"And I am glad to oblige you, Mr. Carter, when you have such important tasks before you today."

"Tasks? Yes, yes, but I was thinking of an unrelated concern." His brow furrowed, his eyes darkened, and for a moment he seemed unsure how to proceed. "Miss Galindo, this may be difficult to -- well, I must tell you that I know about the conversation you had with Harry the other day."

She felt as though her heart were about to stop. "The other day?"

"What you said to him after meeting Dr. Marshland. Harry was -- "

"Oh, Mr. Carter," she murmured. "I am sorry. I should not have subjected Harry to that, and I had no wish to cause you pain – "

She stopped, and said, shamefacedly, "I expressed that very badly indeed, Mr. Carter. I am so truly sorry."

To her surprise, he did not seem angry or reproachful. "Miss Galindo, I doubt you could have stopped Harry from speaking, not when he has all these questions, and not when Dr. Marshland was there to begin to provide some answers." He curled his hand around hers. "But Harry was very distressed, and he told me he'd -- "

"Oh, Mr. Carter, I had no intention of wounding Harry," she said softly. "I am indeed sorry." There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, for all that she was keeping her composure.

"Harry? No, no, he was concerned -- "

"He has such regard for you, Mr. Carter; surely you know that."

"No, no, of course I know what a kind heart the boy has." He'd taken her hand in both of his and was stroking it gently. "And he was very -- "

Footsteps, softer and lighter this time. The tapping of Lady Ludlow's walking stick.

Miss Galindo and Mr. Carter, as if by agreement, broke apart, indeed increased the distance between them by a judicious few steps, and turned to face her ladyship as she entered the room.

The smiles seem especially forced this morning, she thought. Whatever can they have been talking of? And are those tears in Laurentia's eyes?

Truly a conversation with Miss Galindo never went as planned.

Anyone watching Mr. Carter as he made his way through the streets of Cranford would have stepped carefully aside to avoid him, given the expression on his face. Damn it. He had spent two days attempting a proper meeting with Miss Galindo, and never succeeded, not wholly. And now he would be in Manchester for nearly two days, and unable to reveal all that he was about.

Well, then. If he could not see her properly before he made his journey, there were other means at his disposal. And he set on a course for the High Street.

Tomorrow she'd be in the shop again, not at Hanbury Court, and yet she'd have to rise early. Still, sleep was eluding her tonight, and her thoughts were filled with Mr. Carter and the several aborted conversations they'd had. Everything always began so interestingly, and then was broken off without resolution.

It was endlessly vexing.

And now he had gone to Manchester, and further discussion would have to wait. Why, it didn't matter if he was in the next room, a dozen miles away, or on the other side of the ocean; they were parted, and so she couldn't say a proper word to him, or he to her.

His efforts to engage her in conversation had been most intriguing; even Mrs. Morgan had said so. Then again, for all that she possessed superior knowledge of the male sex, Mrs. Morgan was occasionally wrong at divining intentions. Look at what had happened with Dr. Harrison!

Still, Miss Galindo had to wonder what Mrs. Morgan would have made of Edward Carter if she'd seen the look in his eyes as he'd walked in the door of the shop on Monday morning.

The memory of that expression was the last image in her mind as Miss Galindo finally drifted off to sleep.

To be continued...