Written in My Heart Read Online Free PDF

visitor, Miss Barton,” she said unnecessarily. “I’ll leave you alone for a moment. Come along, Puck.” She snapped her fingers at the dog, who ignored her as he continued trying to wriggle into Ethan’s arms.
    “Puck can stay,” said Jane faintly.
    Ethan glanced away from her at last. “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Lynch.”
    She smiled at him and slipped past Jane with a kindly glance. She shooed a wide-eyed Millie, who had followed Jane, back out the door. Jane heard the door latch shut behind her employer, but she stayed where she was, hands knotted in front of her. She had imagined this moment for three years and now didn’t know what to say or do.
    Ethan rose to his feet. Somehow he seemed taller than she remembered, and leaner. His hair was lighter, his face browner. But it was his voice, just as she had heard in her dreams every night. “You still bring Puck,” he said, stretching his hand down for the dog to lick some more. “I forgot that he would be with you.”
    She managed a small nod. “Yes. Once your father become ill, he couldn’t manage the dog.”
    “Father wrote that you were an invaluable help to him, taking care of Puck.”
    She tried to smile and failed. “I tried,” she whispered.
    Suddenly he seemed as tongue-tied and awkward as she felt. He cleared his throat and looked down at the dog. “I’d say you succeeded brilliantly. He looks quite well.”
    She bit her lip and nodded once. Suddenly it occurred to her that he would take Puck back now. She ought to be glad; Puck worshipped Ethan. Instead she thought of the empty little bed in the corner of her own room and wanted to cry.
    He looked up again. “Jane,” he said at the same moment she blurted out, “I’m glad to see you’re well, too.”
    He took a deep breath. “Yes. Now I am.”
    “Oh!” Her hand flew to her lips. “Were you hurt?”
    “It’s hard to be in the army and not be hurt eventually. I have my share of scars.”
    “But—but nothing serious?” She scanned him anxiously from head to toe, looking for any sign of infirmity.
    “No.” He cleared his throat again. Puck had calmed down enough to have wedged himself between Ethan’s boots, where he sat with his tongue hanging out and a slightly exhausted, happy look on his canine face. Ethan raised his hand as if to run it through his hair, then grimaced at the dog drool clinging to his fingers and wiped it on his jacket.
    “Your father must be so relieved,” she said, scrambling for anything sensible to say. “He’s been so anxious for word, after the terrible battle.”
    “Yes, I imagine he will be,” Ethan said. “When I go see him.”
    “You haven’t seen him yet?” Her voice wobbled. Her heart seemed to be swelling. Had he come to see her first, even before his own father?
    Slowly Ethan shook his head. His too-long blond hair, bleached paler than before, flopped over his forehead. “I had to see you,” he said quietly. “Jane, I—I missed you. Your letters kept me from going mad. Sometimes the post would be delayed; I wouldn’t get a letter for a month, and it would seem endless. More than once I began to fear you had ceased writing, no doubt having found some other, more rewarding occupation.” His gaze moved over her face. “Or some other more fortunate fellow to write to.”
    Mutely she shook her head.
    “And then three or four would arrive at once. It was better than Christmas Day when that happened. I would save them, trying to make them last. Your stories of life in Caxby, which I had once thought so mundane and dull, were like sunshine in the dreary mountains of Portugal.”
    He came to see her … to thank her? For writing letters about home? She had written everything she could think of except what she most wanted to say. Her shoulders slumped a little, but she tried to smile graciously. “I am glad they were a comfort.”
    “Dash it all.” This time he did run his hand through his hair, flipping it back. “I’m doing this all