“I can’t go back to bed, Nora girl. We have to find out who’s the no-good snake that planted those markers around my Eve’s grave.”
He teetered slightly, and Nora tightened her grip.
“Grandpa, you’re sick. And if you don’t rest and keep warm, you’re going to get sicker.” She used a bit more strength to turn him, and even though he resisted, she successfully maneuvered him back to his bed. She pulled down the quilt and helped get him situated, but the moment she tugged the quilt back up around him, he struggled to sit up. His hand shook as he pointed his finger at her.
“I don’t have time to sit in bed. Eve’s resting place is in danger.” He tried to throw back the covers, but Nora held them firmly in place.
“Grandpa, if I have to, I’ll stay home from work today to take care of you.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they couldn’t afford for her to miss a single day’s work. They needed every penny. But Grandpa’s health was more important.
Grandpa’s bushy white eyebrows dipped in consternation and a coughing spasm seized him.
Nora quickly fetched a cup of water. “Just listen to that cough. And your fever is getting worse.”
Finally, Grandpa leaned back against the pillows, spent from the hacking cough. “All right, I promise I’ll stay in bed. You need to go to work. But, Nora girl—” His raspy voice turned pleading. “You must find out who’s responsible for puttin’ those stakes out there around the burial ground. Tell me you will.”
“Shhh.” Nora brushed his hair off his forehead. “I will, Grandpa. I’m going to stop by Doctor Guthrie’s office and send him by to check on you.” She shook her finger at him. “But you stay in bed. You promised.”
He nodded and caught her hand. “We have to go back out there, to the river, to make sure those scoundrels don’t stick any more markers in the ground. Nobody’s gonna disturb Eve’s place.”
Nora squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk about it later.” She refilled his cup with water and set it within his reach before hurrying to finish readying herself for work.
She peeked into Grandpa’s bedroom before she left and found him sleeping, so she tiptoed to the door and slipped out. As soon as she stepped off the porch, however, she lengthened her stride and pointed her steps toward the doctor’s office. The detour would make her late, and Mayor Gilbert would be annoyed, but Grandpa needed the doctor. She’d simply have to make up the time to appease the mayor.
Grandpa’s insistence over learning the identity of ones who planted the surveyor’s markers rang in her ears. Nora knew who was responsible for pounding in those markers. It had to be Asa Bennington and Donovan McNeary. To her knowledge, nobody else had planned to purchase any land around here. To think her heart had fluttered at Mr. McNeary’s smile!
The only conclusion was that they planned to build their new textile mill on top of the Cherokee burial ground. Her breakfast churned in her stomach. The same mill that had the whole town excited, the mill that promised new jobs and greater prosperity, this mill of which everyone was in favor was going to desecrate her grandmother’s resting place and give Grandpa apoplexy.
She could try to dissuade Mr. Bennington from building on the burial ground, but when he and everyone else learned the reason, she’d be shouted down as surely as day followed night. She couldn’t think of more than a handful of people who would agree with her and Grandpa that the Cherokee burial ground should remained undisturbed. But Grandpa always told her sitting by and doing nothing when injustice occurred made her worse than the one performing the evil deed.
A small sense of relief eased some of the tightness in Donovan’s shoulders as he watched Asa Bennington head out of Pine Ridge on the road to Dalton. Once he boarded the southbound train to Atlanta, he’d be in the city several days. Bennington’s pressure to learn the identity of the person who sabotaged the survey markers before he returned hung over Donovan’s head, so despite Bennington’s absence, tension still roiled within him.
Naming the “culprit,” as Bennington kept repeating, wasn’t the only thing on Donovan’s list, however. Quite aware that his boss was accustomed to having everything go his way—and at times was willing to pay whatever it took for that to happen—Donovan knew his tentative plan to privately consult a lawyer could easily backfire on him.
A few of the tasks Bennington had assigned to Donovan were premature at best, and possibly illegal at worst. If there were any legal repercussions, he wanted to make sure he didn’t become Bennington’s scapegoat. So he planned to stop by Mr. Lawrence Templeton, Esquire’s office today for some wise counsel. If his mother was still alive, she’d hand him the Bible and tell him all the counsel he needed was right there.
Before he stopped at Templeton’s office, however, he needed to check in with Mayor Gilbert to see if there was any word yet from the land owners. Just as he reached the courthouse door, Nora Courtland approached from the opposite direction, panting, hair slightly askew from her obvious hurry.
“Good morning, Miss Courtland.” Donovan held the door open for her.
“Good morning.” She ran her fingers over her hair. “I must look affright.” She peered up at the courthouse clock that read twenty minutes past eight o’clock. “I’m late.”
Donovan stepped aside for her to enter. The moment he followed her inside, the mayor emerged from his office, red-faced and scowling. “It’s about time you got here, Miss Courtland. What is the meaning of this, coming in here twenty minutes late? You can expect your pay to be docked, and you can thank me for not firing you on the spot.”
Donovan gritted his teeth at the way the mayor bellowed at Miss Courtland in his presence. Tardiness wasn’t something Bennington tolerated either, but he had a gut feeling Miss Courtland had a good reason. He curled his fingers to prevent them from seizing Gilbert’s lapels and teaching him how to speak to a lady.
Still out of breath from rushing, Miss Courtland twisted the ties of her reticule. “I’m sorry, Mayor Gilbert, but Grandpa is ill. I had to go fetch the doctor.”
The mayor’s expression softened immediately. “Hosea is ill?”
“Yes, sir.” She clasped her fingers at her waist. “I’ll work late, I promise. But I really need to run home at noon to check on Grandpa.”
Mayor Gilbert harrumphed. “Yes, well, see that you make up the time.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Donovan relaxed his clenched fists. “Mayor, may I speak with you a few moments?”
The mayor tipped his head toward his office, and Donovan followed him.
Gilbert closed the door behind them and pointed to a chair facing the desk. “Have a seat.” He took his own desk chair.
Donovan sat and cleared his throat. “Mayor Gilbert, my employer is quite distressed over the number of people who already know about the mill coming to Pine Ridge. This information wasn’t to be made public until the deal was done. Seems like the whole town knows about it. Mr. Bennington was further troubled when we visited the property two days ago, and the surveyor’s stakes were nowhere to be found.” He leaned forward in his chair. “While I disagreed with having the survey done before the land is even contracted for purchase, the fact remains that someone has removed the stakes.”
Gilbert’s brows arched nearly to his hairline, and then plunged into a deep frown. “Is that right?” He rubbed his chin.
Donovan pressed his fingertips together. “Do you have any idea who might have gotten wind of the news regarding the mill and would be opposed to it?”
Gilbert rose and crossed the room to a map. He stood studying the plat, running his finger around the areas surrounding the land in question. “Why would anyone be against the mill? It means jobs, and commerce, and prosperity, and growth, and—”
“And re-election? Is that why you told people? So you’d look like a hero?” When the mayor turned around, Donovan nailed him with a hard stare.
Mayor Gilbert sputtered. “Now see here—”
“I do see.” Donovan folded his
arms over his chest. “The land deal is taking far longer than you anticipated, and you didn’t want to wait for folks to
know what a great mayor you are, bringing in this new business.” “B-but—”
Donovan rose from his chair. “May I remind you that Mr. Bennington
was the one who first contacted you, not the other way around, and you assured him you knew of the perfect piece of land for Bennington Textile Mill.
Since the Weavers haven’t yet responded to several letters, you think you’ll
just push things along a bit, am I right?”
Gilbert’s tone turned pleading. “I’m sure a letter will arrive any day now.
The Weaver family hasn’t lived in this area for years. Why wouldn’t they want
to sell?”
“Hmm, so you’ve said.” Donovan hooked his thumbs in his belt. “So, do
you have the surveyor’s report?”
The mayor pawed through the clutter on his desk. “I think it’s here somewhere.” But after several minutes, he’d only succeeded in scrambling the
mess into a worse tangle.
“Doesn’t Miss Courtland file documents for you?”
Gilbert shook his head. “No, not papers of this kind. Too confidential.” Donovan ran his hand across his face in frustration. The report was so
confidential the mayor couldn’t even find it? “Look, I have some other errands. Find the report, and I’ll come back later today.”
The mayor bobbed his head, still bent over his desk. Donovan shook his
head and let himself out. Miss Courtland looked up as he exited the mayor’s
office.
“Mr. McNeary, do you have a minute?”
Donovan pulled out his watch. “I’m sorry, I really don’t. I have another
appointment.”
She twisted her fingers. “I really must speak with you.”
Pleasure spiraled through him. Maybe his visit to the courthouse was
worth the trouble of putting up with Mayor Gilbert after all. “I’d be pleased
to speak with you. Perhaps I can come by at noon and take you to lunch.
Puckett’s Cafe has tasty food.” Anticipation pulled a smile into his face, but
his hope plummeted when she shook her head.
“I need to go home and check on my grandfather at noon.” “Yes, of course. You said your grandfather was ill.” He berated himself for
so quickly forgetting her distress this morning. “What if I come by at noon and walk you to your home? We can talk on the way.”
She pulled her bottom lip in and caught it between her teeth for a moment before nodding. “All right.”
A wide grin stretched his lips. “Great! Th-that is, I look forward to… speaking with you.” His pulse hitched and thumped. “I’ll see you at noon.”
CHAPTER 5
Nora sent Mr. McNeary a polite, tight-lipped smile as he held the door for her. He beamed at her in return as if walking with her was the highlight of his day. A traitorous quiver wiggled through her at the thought. Knowing what she knew, she couldn’t allow silly, schoolgirl flutters to distract her from the question with which she was about to confront him.
He extended his arm to her. A few days ago, she’d have been happy to stroll down the street on Donovan McNeary’s arm. Today, however, angst over Grandpa’s health and anger over the apparent building site for the mill clamored for center stage.
She drew in a deep breath. “ Thank you for your gentlemanly gesture, but I really must hurry to check on Grandpa and get back to the courthouse since I arrived late this morning.”
Without taking his arm, she hurried down the street, forcing Mr. McNeary to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. With every step, however, a niggling wish invaded her mind—one she tried to push away, but it stubbornly refused to let go. The idea of spending a leisurely afternoon with this man, getting to know him and allowing him to know her, wouldn’t leave her alone.
No matter. When she told him what was on her mind, he’d view her stand against the mill being built on the burial ground as nonsense and, in all likelihood, scorn her heritage.
His long legs had no trouble maintaining the pace she set. “What was it you wished to discuss with me?”
His question prompted her to give voice to the question that had kept her awake for the past two nights. She halted abruptly and faced him. “Are you the one who stuck those stakes in the ground out at the—” She clamped her lips shut before she could blurt out Cherokee burial ground. “Uh…o-out there by the river?”
His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”
Nora’s breath hitched. How much should she reveal? She didn’t know this man, not truly. His reaction would doubtless be like everyone else’s, at least like those who knew there were Cherokee graves out there. Decades had laid much of the animosity to rest, and she wasn’t willing to dredge up the hatred that would only hurt Grandpa.
“I really must hurry.” She continued on toward her home, her thoughts warring within her. His response to her question incriminated him. The fact that his smile evaporated the moment she asked only reinforced her belief. But she’d need time to give consideration to her options. For now, her priority loomed ahead in the form of the doctor’s buggy tied outside their front gate.
“That’s Doctor Guthrie’s buggy. I want to catch him before he leaves.” She picked up her skirt and broke into a run, trotting as fast as propriety would allow. Whether or not Mr. McNeary followed wasn’t important now. She’d confirmed what she wanted to know.
She scurried up the porch steps and rushed to Grandpa’s bedroom. He was sitting up in bed as Doctor Guthrie bent over him and listened to his chest.
“Take a deep breath.”
Grandpa scowled. “If I could take a deep breath I wouldn’t need you here pokin’ and proddin’ me.”
Nora moved to the side of the bed. “Grandpa, don’t be such a grouch. Do as the doctor says.”
Doc glanced up. “Ah, see there, Hosea? Reinforcements.” He sent Nora a grim smile. “I hope you can remind this old goat he’s no spring chicken anymore. He needs to rest if he wants to get better.”
Nora sighed and eyed Grandpa. “I’ve tried, Doctor. You know how stubborn he is.”
Grandpa aimed a boney finger at the doctor. “Pert near as stubborn as you.” A spasm of coughing cut off further argument.
Doctor Guthrie rummaged through his bag and pulled out a gray box. He directed Nora to fetch her grandfather a cup of water and measured a spoonful of the box’s powder into it. “Stir that up and let him drink it. Four times a day, and he’s to stay in bed.”
He returned to his black bag and produced a small bottle with dark liquid in it. “A spoonful of this every time he gets to coughing and can’t stop.” He handed the bottle to Nora.
The doctor aimed his steely look at Grandpa. “Now you rest, Hosea. If I have to, I’ll take you over to my place where my missus’ll sit with you all day.”
Grandpa’s scowl would have frightened a scarecrow. “Don’t like sittin’ in bed.”
Doctor Guthrie snapped his bag shut and shook his head. “I’ve had twoyear-olds who were better patients.” He walked to the bedroom door and shook an admonishing finger at Grandpa. “You heard what I said, Hosea. Stay put and don’t give Miss Nora a hard time.”
Nora bit her lip. If she weren’t so worried about her grandfather, hearing the doctor scold him might be humorous. She closed Grandpa’s bedroom door and walked with the doctor out to the front porch.
Deep lines furrowed the doctor’s brow. “I don’t like the sounds of his chest. How long has he been like this?”
Dread bore into Nora’s chest. “Just two days. He wanted to go out to the burial ground Sunday afternoon and we got caught in the rain.”
“Hmm.” Doc nodded. “I know he’s like a hound on a possum’s trail when it comes to visiting the burial ground.” He paused. “If it’s only been two
days, the pneumonia isn’t too deep yet. But at his age…”
The anguish in her heart intensified. Grandpa’s frailty was indeed a factor. “What do I owe you, Doc?”
Doctor Guthrie flapped his hand and pursed his lips. “Hosea’s my best friend. You make sure he rests and takes his medicine. And next time he wants to go have a visit with Eve, tell him to choose better weather. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She managed a wobbly smile. “Thanks, Doc.”
Donovan sat at the far end of the Courtland’s porch with his elbows on his knees, waiting for Miss Courtland and the doctor to finish their conversation. After being lost in thought for the past twenty minutes, mulling over what Lawrence Templeton had told him, he’d debated whether to return to his hotel room to write out his letter of resignation. Some of the duties Bennington expected Donovan to do in his absence were, indeed, illegal in the light of the fact that the property was not yet contracted. The legal ramifications would come crashing down on his head despite Bennington directing him to perform such tasks as hiring men to begin felling trees and using the piles of rocks to dam up the river.
Before he could rise from his seat, however, Miss Courtland’s conversation with the doctor nailed him in place. They obviously didn’t see him in the obscuring shadow of a lilac bush. The pleasant scent of the lilacs had reminded him of his mother. He’d waited there, hoping to walk Miss Courtland back to the courthouse and inquire further of her knowledge of the surveyor stakes.
Th e pair walked to the picket gate together and the doctor tossed his bag into the buggy. “Can I give you a ride, Miss Nora?”
“Oh, I’d appreciate that. Mayor Gilbert wasn’t happy with me this morning because I was late.” The doctor gave her a hand climbing into the buggy and moments later, the two drove off in the direction of the courthouse.
Donovan stared after the buggy, his thoughts a muddled mess. Did they say burial ground? He ran his hand through his hair, aversion pooling in his stomach. Was Mr. Bennington planning on building his textile mill on top of a cemetery?
Destination: Romance: Five Inspirational Love Stories Spanning the Globe Page 8