Heart of the Ocean Read Online Free

patted Eliza’s shoulder and said, “It’s my special
medicinal tea. Thou wilt gain thy strength back quickly.”
    Eliza blew on the tea before taking another scorching sip.
    “We’ll have to make arrangements for thy aunt.” Ruth’s voice
was kind. “Doest thou know what her last wishes were?”
    “No,” Eliza said, new tears forming. “I have no idea.”
    Ruth sighed. “She never did want to outlive her husband.”
    Eliza thought of her uncle, who had died a few years back.
He was a quiet man with a warm and steady manner. Maeve and her husband had
come to visit her family in New York once or twice, but their simple ways were
out of place there. The Sunday activities were unbearable for them, and they
had spent the day in the guest room, reading the Bible. Later, her father
explained that laughing and speaking in a loud voice was prohibited on the
Sabbath for Puritans, along with other worldly activities.
    Ruth crossed the room and opened the window wider, letting in
the morning breeze.
    “Is Jonny your son?” Eliza asked.
    Ruth turned, a flicker of sorrow in her eyes. “In a manner
of speaking, yes. His mother died when he was young, and I took him into my
care.”
    And then Eliza knew. Jonny was . . . “His mother was Helena
Talbot?”
    A shadow passed over Ruth’s face. “Thou hast heard of her, I
see. Aye, Helena was her name.” She pursed her lips and fell silent. She seemed
reluctant to say more.
    Exhaustion pulled at Eliza; she closed
her eyes. Ruth murmured something about sleeping, and Eliza was grateful to
oblige, as she allowed herself to sink into nothingness.
    ***
    Someone touched her shoulder, and Eliza startled awake.
    An elderly woman stood over her. Eliza remembered it was Ruth
and that she was in the woman’s house because of the awfulness of the night
before.
    “The constable’s arrived,” Ruth said. “He’ll want to ask
thee a few questions.”
    Eliza smoothed her hair as Ruth left to answer the door. She
sat up, adjusting the quilt about her. Her head throbbed, and her throat felt
thick. A few moments later, Ruth led the constable into the bedroom. He bore a
striking resemblance to Thomas, with a plenty wide girth. Eliza swallowed
nervously.
    “Good mornin’ miss. Sorry t’hear about thy aunt.”
    The constable’s dark eyes glinted in the morning light, and
his mouth worked beneath his heavy mustache. It was his nose that reminded her
most of her rejected beau—it twitched and sniffed persistently.
    “About what time didst thou find her?” the constable
continued, shuffling a step closer.
    Eliza clasped her hands to steady their trembling. “I’m not
certain. The sound of breaking glass woke me. It wasn’t very late, but with the
storm, we went to bed earlier than usual. Her door was stuck . . . and when it
opened, I found her . . .”
    The constable frowned. “Did thou hear any other sounds
coming from her room?”
    “Only the wind and . . .” She paused.
    “And?” the constable prompted.
    Eliza stared past him. “The wind sounded so strange. I
thought I heard someone crying.”
    A sudden movement from Ruth caught Eliza’s attention. Ruth’s
hands were gripped into a tight ball and her face had drained of color.
“Crying?” she whispered.
    The constable looked at Ruth, then back to Eliza, his thick
eyebrows raised. “Most likely the wind , ma’am. Or perhaps the poor woman
was crying right before her murder.”
     “ Murder? ” Eliza whispered.
    His eyes hardened. “That’s right, miss. Thy aunt was
murdered. God rest her soul.”
    It took Eliza a moment to comprehend. “How?”
    He looked from Ruth to Eliza as if unsure what exactly to
say. In a quiet voice, he said, “Thou must tell me, Miss Robinson.”
    “How would I know?” Surely the constable didn’t think that
she . . .
    His eyes bore into hers, and she shuddered involuntarily.
    “You can’t think that I . . .” She looked to Ruth for help.
    Ruth folded her thin arms. She stared straight