Choices of the Heart

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About Sarah M. Eden

  HOPE SPRINGS SERIES

  Longing for Home

  Longing for Home: Hope Springs

  My Dearest Love

  Love Remains

  Long Journey Home

  Valley of Dreams

  Choices of the Heart

  THE JONQUIL BROTHERS SERIES

  The Kiss of a Stranger

  Friends and Foes

  Drops of Gold

  As You Are

  A Fine Gentleman

  For Love or Honor

  The Heart of a Vicar

  Charming Artemis

  THE LANCASTER FAMILY SERIES

  Seeking Persephone

  Courting Miss Lancaster

  Romancing Daphne

  Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

  Charming Artemis

  THE DREAD PENNY SOCIETY SERIES

  The Lady and the Highwayman

  The Gentleman and the Thief

  The Merchant and the Rogue

  THE GENTS SERIES

  Forget Me Not

  Lily of the Valley

  Copyright © 2022 by Sarah M. Eden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior design by Cora Johnson

  Edited by Jolene Perry and Lorie Humpherys

  Cover design by Mirror Press, LLC, and Rachael Anderson

  Cover image © Ildiko Neer / Trevillion Images

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  Baltimore, Maryland

  1876

  Sophie Kingston couldn’t say with any degree of honesty that she was living her fondest dream. But neither was she truly unhappy. She’d lived all her twenty-five years in Baltimore, and, though her family had moved to Boston two years earlier, she’d been able to remain in the city she knew so well. She lived with a family friend, a widow of significant standing in local society and of even more significant wealth. Mrs. Millicent Archer had taken her on as something of an unofficial companion.

  Sophie’s parents had abandoned all hope of their “odd” daughter making a matrimonial match amongst Baltimore’s wealthy and influential. She had never been courted or shown any romantic attention. Indeed, the only attention she seemed to receive from anyone in Baltimore society tended toward confusion and discomfort. Her family had all but abandoned the idea of her making friends amongst that set. But Mrs. Archer had taken a liking to her. And Sophie liked her in return.

  “Miss Kingston.” The butler presented her with two letters before sketching a quick bow and continuing down the corridor.

  A glance at the letters indicated one was for Mrs. Archer, as the vast majority of correspondence arriving at their home was, but the second was addressed to Sophie herself. No one ever wrote to her other than her sister, Dinah.

  Sophie checked the watch pinned to her dress. Three o’clock. Mrs. Archer would be in the sitting room, working on her stitching. Their days were very predictable. While Sophie had once imagined herself living a more adventurous existence, she didn’t dislike the somewhat repetitive life she lived now.

  Mrs. Archer looked up as Sophie approached.

  “You’ve received a letter.” Sophie held it out to her.

  “Wonderful.” Mrs. Archer set aside her stitching and accepted the letter. After a quick perusal, she said, “It is from Joseph.”

  Her only child, Joseph, lived in Wyoming Territory, though he still ran the family shipping business through telegrams, letters, and annual visits to Baltimore during the winter. Except, he’d not come as expected a few months earlier. His wife was pregnant and not feeling well. She could not have made the journey, and he’d not wanted to leave her.

  Though Mrs. Archer had insisted she understood and was not upset, Sophie had seen her disappointment. She had been disappointed herself. The Wyoming Archers had visited the year before and had proven a welcome addition to the usually quiet household.

  Sophie sat in the chair she usually did and opened her letter, leaving Mrs. Archer to do the same.

  Dearest Sophie,

  Mother sends her love and greetings. Life has been busy here in Boston. My William is positioned to win a seat in the state senate at the next election. Our time is filled with campaign events and appearances. Mother and Father are quite proud of him and eager to assist.

  The letter went on for two pages in like manner: Dinah’s expounding on her family’s accomplishments and their parents’ subsequent delight and involvement. Her sister wasn’t arrogant or a braggart. She was sincerely eager to share her life with the sister the family had left behind. Dinah gave Sophie her only glimpse into the life they were building there. Without her.

  Joseph Archer’s letters to his mother were always quite sincere and lifted her spirits. He could, in person, give the impression of coldness. But Sophie had been granted the opportunity to watch him interact with his mother and, more telling still, his wife and children. He had a warm and loving heart. And, despite having to forego his usual visit to Baltimore, he’d not neglected to write to Mrs. Archer.

  “What is the latest from Joseph?” Sophie asked.

  “His Katie is feeling better. The local doctor says all is progressing well.”

  That was good news.

  “His oldest has completed her schooling, as much as is offered in such an out-of-the-way corner of the country.” Mrs. Archer lowered the letter, her forehead wrinkling in thought. “She was such a good student and genuinely enjoyed school. I wonder what she will do now.”

  “How old is she?”

  A moment of quick calculation passed. “Emma must be fifteen. That is difficult to believe.”

  “Time goes by very quickly, doesn’t it?”

  Mrs. Archer sighed. “Too quickly, it seems. Not having them visit this year feels like missing a quickly-disappearing chance to spend time with Emma. Not many more years and she will be grown with a family of her own. I fear I’ll seldom see her after that, if at all.”

  No matter that Mrs. Archer was active in Baltimore society and was visited regularly by her many friends, the woman was often lonely without her family nearby. Sophie understood that all too well.

  Mrs. Archer’s friends had embraced Sophie, though their age difference was something of a barrier. And Sophie accompanied her benefactress to countless society events. She did not want for company. But she missed her family. She missed people her own age.

  She would have missed being more herself, but that had not been permitted for a very long time. Over the years, she had been declared everything from an oddity to an overly free spirit. Her family had firmly suggested but never required she conform, neither had Mrs. Archer. But Sophie’s peculiar approach to life had not proven an asset in the eyes of Baltimore society. She had kept herself to more sedate and prim behavior since being taken in by Mrs. Archer. The last thing in the world she wanted was to embarrass the woman who had shown her such kindness.

  “Joseph has mentioned the journey from Baltimore to Hope Springs is not as harrowing as it once was.” Mrs. Archer made the declaration in the tone one used when contemplating something beyond what one was discussing.

  “He has undertaken it with little children,” Sophie said. “It mustn’t be dangerous or truly treacherous.”

  “If children can manage the journey”—Mrs. Archer looked to Sophie once more— “perhaps an old woman could.”

  That was an interesting observation.

  “That comment would make me wonder if you were contemplating a westward trek,” Sophie said, “except you are not an old woman.”

  Mrs. Archer smiled at her fondly. “I am not so young as I used to be. And I will be even less so when next Joseph and his family come to visit me, assuming they’re able to. As his family grows, so do the complications of such journeys.”

  “Are you truly contemplating going west?”

  “I will have to ask Dr. Norwood if he has any significant concerns. But, barring anything literally life-threatening, I don’t know if he could entirely dissuade me.” Mrs. Archer squared her shawl-draped shoulders. “If my family cannot come to me, I don’t see why I can’t go to them. I have determination and fortitude, and my health is good. And, if you are willing, I would not be making the journey alone.”

  Sophie perked up on the instant. “You would wish for me to join you?”

  “I would like nothing better.”

  It would likely be a week or two of train rides and stagecoaches, of questionable accommodations in unfamiliar corners of the country. And there was no predicting what they might find upon arriving in Hope Springs. The journey would, without question, be
exhausting. And it might very well be dangerous.

  With a spreading grin, Sophie said, “I would like nothing better.”

  Hope Springs, Wyoming Territory

  To say Burke Jones had been born in poverty would have been a shocking understatement. He had been raised in an orphanage in Peoria, Illinois where there’d never been room enough or food enough. He hadn’t the first idea who his parents were. Burke had assigned himself a birthday, not knowing what his actual one was.

  When he was little, he’d dreamed of running away. But as he’d grown, those dreams had changed. He had formulated a means of leaving the cold indifference of the orphanage behind for good by one day becoming a respected and successful doctor.

  Now twenty-eight years old, he was, in fact, a doctor. In a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and more than half his patients were animals. It was hardly the prestigious practice he’d passed those cold and lonely nights dreaming about. And it came nowhere close to the level of prosperity he’d insisted to his fellow medical students he would one day claim.

  Still, he liked his work and the people he looked after. He was building a stable and dependable life for himself.

  At the moment, he sat in the humble home of one of the local farmers with a three-year-old little boy on his knee. He bounced the child a bit, smiling to reassure him. “And how are you feeling, Matthew? I see all your spots are gone.”

  “No more spots,” Matthew said.

  Burke searched as he spoke. Chicken pox was a relatively minor experience for most who contracted it, but he did want to make certain this little one was well recovered. The boy’s infant sister had contracted the illness as well, which had been far more worrying.

  Of the child’s mother, he asked, “Is Claire still fever-free?”

  “Yes, for two days now.” She looked at him as she spoke, though she was entirely blind. She was also English, something that required some getting used to in a town populated entirely by either Irish immigrants or Americans. “Both children seem their usual selves now.”

  “Good. Good.” He was satisfied with Matthew’s recovery. He lifted him into his arms as he stood. “You will be pleased to know, Matthew, that all of your cousins who’ve been sick with this are doing much better.”

  “Even Eoin?” the boy’s mother pressed. “He is so tiny still. We’ve worried about him.”

  “He’s been better the last twenty-four hours. I’m going to look in on him when I return to the inn.” Burke’s home and infirmary adjoined the town’s inn, both built only two years earlier. Eoin’s parents ran the inn. “After I look in on the Archers and their children.”

  Cecily, these children’s mother, shook her head and sighed. “This sure spread quickly, didn’t it?”

  “It did, indeed.”

  He was bid farewell. Matthew seemed genuinely sad to see him go. Burke had worked since coming to Hope Springs to earn the trust of the children. Helping them when they were ill or injured had proven difficult in the extreme before they’d learned to not be afraid of him.

  Burke drove his one-horse buggy down the road, passing familiar farms and quickly recounting in his mind any health concerns he knew of in the resident families. Hope Springs was not a large town, but it was big enough to keep him busy.

  Just on the other side of the bridge that spanned the Hope Springs river was the Archer farm. Joseph and Katie had a growing family, a picturesque farm, and every bit as much wealth and influence as Burke had once dreamed of claiming. They employed both a housekeeper and a farm hand and owned nearly all the land in the valley. They were also genuinely good people, which Burke knew from experience was not always the case with the rich and influential.

  He was greeted as warmly at this house as he had been at the more humble home he’d just left. They had three children, and one on the way. Their oldest, Emma, had avoided the town’s most recent brush with chicken pox by virtue of having had it before. Her younger sister and brother had not.

  Little Sean rushed over to him, and Burke scooped him up. He was nearly four years old now but had been quite small when Burke had first come to Hope Springs. Time had gone quickly in many ways.

  The middle Archer child, nine-year-old Ivy, bounced into the room. Even sick, the girl had more energy than anyone Burke had ever met. She was a delightful handful.

  Their father was most certainly out in the fields. But their mother and oldest sister, Emma, joined the younger children in the next instant.

  “Why, Dr. Jones, how good of you to look in on us.” Katie, their mother, spoke with the distinctive flavor of Ireland.

  “I wanted to make certain your two youngest are spot and fever free, that Miss Emma’s arm is feeling better, and that you are well.” Emma had sprained her arm a few weeks earlier, and Katie’s pregnancy had not been without difficulty.

  “We are very fortunate to have you, Burke Jones.”

  And he was truly fortunate to be the doctor for this town and the surrounding ones. Before it had been unexpectedly offered to him, he’d all but given up hope of using the medical degree he’d fought so hard to earn. He’d found in Hope Springs a town that desperately needed him. The sight of Katie’s now-fingerless left hand served as a recurring reminder of how dire their situation was before his arrival.

  “When can I go back to school?” Ivy asked, tugging at his coat. “I’m missing all the best games.”

  “If you truly are spot-free, and you aren’t running a fever, you could return tomorrow.”

  Ivy spun about, stopping after a few revolutions to look at her sister. “I get to go back to school.” There was something very teasing in the declaration.

  Emma tipped her chin at a proud angle. “That is because you are still a child.”

  “You are only fifteen,” Ivy tossed back. “That’s not so grown up.”

  Katie put an arm around her oldest, who was now as tall as she was. “It is only difficult because it’s new. You’ll sort out what to do next, you will.”

  Emma sighed, clearly not convinced. To Burke, she said, “My arm feels much better.”

  “I’m glad.” He looked to Katie. “And you?”

  She rested a hand on her clearly pregnant belly. “Hale and hardy.”

  “Good.” He turned to Ivy, still twirling about.

  “No spots. No fever,” she said confidently.

  Burke bounced Sean. “How are you, little one?”

  “No spots,” the boy said. “No fever.”

  A quick confirmation from their mother was enough for him. She had lost a little sister to illness many years earlier and was not one to take sickness lightly. That Katie was not worried meant Burke had no reason to be.

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” he said as he handed the boy to Katie. “You know where to find me.”

  “It is a very convenient thing that you’ve a permanent location now,” Katie said. “It used to be such a struggle to sort out where you were from hour to hour.”

  That was a fine thing, indeed. And the rent he paid on the space he used was within his means; another miracle. In time, his income might even expand enough for supporting more than just himself—perhaps even a family of his own. It was a difficult thing for him to even imagine.

  Soon enough, he was back in his buggy making his way to that “permanent location.”

  The inn had been built out by the stagecoach road. A hill of decent size hid the town from view when one was at the inn. Hope Springs preferred it that way. The town stayed peaceful and quiet and small, while still reaping many of the benefits of stage passengers breaking their journey there for a night.

  It had taken nearly all of the two years since the inn was completed to convince the stage line to adjust their schedule and route so that the inn at Hope Springs could be an overnight stop. But doing so had proven beneficial for both the stage company and the innkeepers.

  The proprietors, Patrick and Eliza O’Connor were inside and waved him over when he entered. Passengers weren’t expected that day, so the inn was quiet.

  “Have a bit to eat, Burke.” Eliza was the only other Englishwoman in the area besides Cecily O’Connor, her sister-in-law. But where Cecily spoke with an almost aristocratic flare, Eliza would’ve sounded entirely at home on the streets of London.