Embraced by a Tormented Heart – Extended Epilogue

Two Years Later

“Miss Warren, Miss Warren!”

Laura looked up from where she was putting away the class’s textbooks and smiled. It was, of course, her favorite student, the adorable and earnest Molly Springer.

Molly had only been five years old when Laura first came to town, and she’d taken an immediate liking to her new teacher. She had left apples on Laura’s desk almost every day, albeit with a bite taken out of each one, as Molly tended to get hungry on the way to school.

She was exactly seven years old today and had enjoyed reminding all of her classmates of that auspicious fact.

“What is it, Molly? School’s finished, you know. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”
Laura noticed for the first time that Molly clutched an envelope in one grubby fist. She held it out to Laura.

“It’s a letter for you, miss. Just arrived.”

Laura spotted the handwriting on the envelope, and her heart skipped a beat. Endeavoring to stay composed, she took the letter with a smile and waved Molly out of the door. She closed the school doors firmly and hurried back to her own rooms.

The local schoolteacher always lived in a set of rooms attached to the school. It was generally considered to be safer and more convenient, and Laura had made those little rooms very much her own over the past two years.

It was strange, living alone. It made dealing with the nightmares much harder. Laura had told Spencer that she felt nothing, but that hadn’t lasted. They had been close to death, they had suffered, and had a horribly narrow escape, and that had to take a toll on a person.

It certainly had taken a toll on Laura. The nightmares—usually featuring wolves, a dark and cold forest, and Jensen—were getting less intense these days, fortunately.

She opened the adjoining door to her little parlor, closed it, and locked it, and only then did she feel ready to sit down and open the letter.

It was the first reply she’d gotten in eighteen months.

Taking a deep, composing breath, Laura opened the envelope and pulled out the letters inside, and settled down to read.

My Dearest Laura,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you. I’ve meant to, believe me. Oh, I know that intentions don’t really count for much, but there it is.

The fact is, I owe you an apology. A certain Somebody is reading over my shoulder as I write, but I am going to be as blunt as I can.

I am sorry, Laura. I am your father, and I ought to have stood up for you more. The fact is—and I hope you never have to endure this—but I missed your mother more than I can possibly say. The loneliness was too much, and I couldn’t stand the thought of never being loved again. That was when Cara came along and made my life so much happier.

I know you don’t like your stepmother, but we get on together and make each other happy.
However, that is beside the point. I was so engrossed with my newfound happiness, so keen to make Cara feel welcome and at home, I neglected you.

I cringe to remember that manuscript incident. At first, when we discovered you had run away, I was angry, trying to blame you and say that you were overreacting. But then, the more I thought on it, the more I realized that I had acted unforgivably.

Where was the justice? Where was the love and pride a parent should have for their child? I failed you, Laura.

I am sorry. I don’t know whether you’ll forgive me. I suppose I can’t blame you if you don’t, but I hope for the best.

I want to set things straight between us. You are my only child.
The truth is, reading your first letter made me feel angry and relieved. On the one hand, I was so happy that you were safe and settled, but I was angry at how worried and hurt you had made me feel.

I suppose that is part of the reason why I didn’t write back straight away. I regret that, Laura. Cara told me to write back at once, for what it’s worth, but I didn’t listen.
Anyway, I want to apologize for putting the needs of my wife above yours. You are my daughter, and I should have had a more balanced view of you. I should have been a better husband and better father. Perhaps if I had, our situation would not have escalated the way it did.

I want to see you again, my darling girl. I don’t expect you to make the journey to come and see us—not with your classroom full of children to teach!—so if it’s acceptable to you, Cara and I will travel to see you. I’m sure there’s an inn or something we can stay in—I know your apartment won’t be large enough.

I anxiously await your reply and look forward to building a new, stronger relationship between us.

I love you, Laura, and I am proud of you. Be safe and well.

All my love,
Your Father, Calvin Warren

P.S. Cara wants me to add a postscript to let you know that she feels terrible about burning your manuscript. While she stands by her claim that she acted in your best interests, she admits that she should not have done it and heartily regrets her actions.

She’s very keen to meet this young man of yours. She says that he sounds extremely nice, and she is glad that you’re not in a rush to marry—it’s not every young woman who can earn her own living without the help of a man.

Laura read the letter through twice, then carefully folded it, slipping it back into the envelope. She sat back in her chair, feeling oddly drained.

It was strange to hear from her father and Cara after so long.

Had they really missed her?

She didn’t have to think about her reply. Laura wanted to see them—both of them—as soon as possible. She’d draft out a letter and send it tomorrow. It would take a few weeks to reach her father, meaning he would have had to wait twice that time for her reply after sending his letter.
But didn’t that mean progress?

A knock on the window startled Laura. She spun around, seeing Spencer’s grinning face pressed against the glass. She rolled her eyes, getting up to open the back door. He slipped inside, still chuckling.

Laura playfully hit him on the arm. “You are terrible, Spencer Holland. You nearly scared the life out of me.”

“Yes, I know. It was funny, though.”

“It was not. Is it time to go?”

“We’ve got a few minutes. Who’s the letter from?”

Laura brightened, picking it up and handing it to him. “It’s from my father.”

“Really? It’s about time.”

“Read it and tell me what you think.”

Spencer picked up the letter, leafing through it while Laura got her things together. She checked and double-checked her carpet bag, terrified that somehow her sheaf of papers—her precious manuscript—would have been misplaced.

No, it was certainly there.

“It sounds as though both your father and stepmother are keen to patch things up. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. It’s a relief, honestly,” Laura straightened up, clutching her carpet bag to her chest. “I’m ready. Oh, Spencer, be honest. Do you think I’m being silly? Am I setting myself up for disappointment?”

Spencer moved closer, cupping her cheek. “No, Laura, I don’t. I read your manuscript, remember? It was thrilling. Engrossing. I was nearly in tears when you killed off….”

“Don’t remind me of that scene,” Laura said quickly. “It was necessary but upsetting.”

“Right. Well, as I said, they’re going to love it, I’m sure of it. Now let’s get going.”

***

They traveled for about an hour on dusty, hot roads to get to a nearby town, larger than theirs. This town was more of a city, with stores and luxuries and offices, to say nothing of a large and prestigious publishing house.

That, of course, was their destination.

Traffic in the town was busy, and the horse and cart slowed to a crawl. Laura hugged her bag on her lap, trying to stay calm. She glanced up at Spencer as they weaved their way through the other carts and carriages, admiring his calmness. Conscious of her gaze, Spencer smiled down at her.
He reached down, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently.

“I forgot to mention, Father hopes you’ll come to supper afterward. Mr. and Mrs. Meriweather are coming.”

“All right, but only if you promise you won’t let them only talk about their child while they’re here. I like little Alfred, but I’m not just a teacher. I’d like to spend time talking about things other than children and lessons.”

Spencer chuckled. “I shall do my best, although Mrs. Meriweather is convinced that her son is gifted.”

Laura pulled a face. “He is not.”

At long last, the cart pulled up outside the tall, sleek building, bearing a glossy sign that read, Turner and Bull Publishers.

“Well, this is it,” Laura said, taking a deep breath. “I can’t remember the last time I was so tense. Except for the time we were both kidnapped, of course.”

“Of course,” Spencer said, suppressing a smile. “I’ll wait for you out here. But, before you go, I have something to ask you.”

Laura turned to face him. “Oh?”

Spencer smiled softly and held out a small gold ring. “I’m afraid there’s no history to this ring. I bought it last time I was in town. But if you don’t mind a ring without a story, Laura Warren, you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to marry me.”

Laura took the ring, letting it sit in her palm. The metal was warm from Spencer’s hand.

“No history, eh?” she said meditatively. “Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to make one.”

Spencer grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“It is a yes.”

Laura leaned forward to kiss him, then remembered that they were in public and thought better of it.

“Go on, then. You’ll be late for your appointment!” Spencer chastised her, and Laura tumbled out of the cart, laughing.

The publishing house was cool and dark, full of dark-suited men who seemed to perpetually disapprove of everything. She approached one of these men and was carelessly told to “speak to the clerk” about her appointment and was pointed in the direction of a young man sitting behind a desk. His broad shoulders and powerful frame quite filled out his suit, and he was noticeably younger than the other gentlemen.

He looked up and smiled as Laura approached, and his smile wavered. He looked strangely familiar.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Bull,” Laura said, staring at the man and trying to work out where she had seen him before.

“Name?” the man said, in a deep voice that didn’t seem to suit the establishment he worked in. Just like that, the memories came flooding back.

“Damian,” Laura breathed. “It’s you. I don’t think you need my name, do you?”

Damian swallowed hard, looking anxious. “Do you plan to call the authorities?” he whispered.

“If I do, will you run?”

He shook his head. “I don’t run anymore.”

Laura held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “I’m not here to ruin your life, Damian. So, you work here now?”

Damian’s face beamed with pride. “Yes, for a whole year. I like it here. I like working as a clerk. After….” He swallowed hard. “After everything, I worked on a farm for a year to save up enough money to move here and got this job. I got married, too,” he added, blushing.

Laura might have expected a rush of ill-feeling toward him, but all she could feel was relief that Damian was safe, happy, and settled. He was living an honest life with somebody who loved him.

“Congratulations,” she said. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“A daughter of the family I stayed with. Her name is Hannah. You’d love her. Not…not that you’ll meet her, of course.”

Laura smiled. “No, I don’t think so. Well, I just got engaged myself.”

“Oh! Congratulations. Not…not to the man…to Spencer?”

Laura grinned wider. “Yes, to Spencer.”

“I hope you’ll be happy.”

“I think we will. I work as a teacher now.”

Damian nodded. “I always thought you would do well at something like that. I’m happy for you, you know.”

“So am I. Happy for you, that is. You were a good man, and you didn’t deserve to suffer all your life,” Laura said with a wry smile. “What about…” she paused, swallowing. Jensen was a man who still haunted her dreams. “What about Jensen?”

Damian’s smile faded a little. “He’s still in prison, of course. I visit him, sometimes. There’s no warrant out for me. I’m not a wanted man, so I suppose I’m free now. I miss him, and he misses me. Still, when he comes out, I’ll be there for him.”

“Good for you. Family is important, I think.”

Damian glanced down at a large book spread open on the desk and ran his finger down a column of names. “Ah, here is your appointment. Mr. Bull is free now. You can go in now if you like.”

Laura nodded. “Thank you. Goodbye, Damian,” she glanced down at the little brass plaque on his desk. “Or rather, Mr. Winter.”

Damian smiled. “Goodbye to you, Miss Warren.”

***

Laura hurried out of the building a full hour later. Spencer was still there, feet up on the front of the cart, hat tipped forward over his face. He was almost certainly asleep.

He woke up as Laura climbed up onto the cart.

“Well?” Spencer asked eagerly. “What did they think of it? Did you tell them that I helped you edit it?”

Laura pursed her lips. “I did mention that I had the help of an editor, yes. I was very discreet as to their identity.”

“You are terrible, Laura. So, what did they say? Does it need more work before you publish? Will they publish it? Oh, come on, woman! Put me out of my misery!”

Laura drew in a deep breath through her nose. She watched a flock of plain birds who sang beautifully take off from a nearby roof.

She turned to look at Spencer, unable to keep her face straight anymore. Laura broke out into a grin.

“They liked it,” she said, hardly able to believe it herself. “They liked my book, Spencer. They liked Augustina. They’re going to publish it.”

THE END

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