She didn’t answer.
A worse thought occurred to him. “Were you seeing him while Jacob was sick?”
“It’s complicated.”
“People say that all the time. Maybe your reasons are complicated, but my question isn’t. Were you sleeping with that man”—he pointed toward the door—“while my brother was dying?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and he knew he wouldn’t get an answer from her today. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the house.
* * *
Chelsea was driving toward home on Alexander Road when she saw Liam’s truck ahead of her make a right onto Chandler Road. For some crazy reason—perhaps she wanted to share with him about her first violin lesson—she decided to do the same. By the time she could see beyond the bridge, he’d turned into the horseshoe-shaped driveway on the mansion site.
When she stopped her car behind his truck, Liam already stood near the steps, fingers tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, his head bowed. Was he praying?
Suddenly uncertain, she drew her hand back from the door handle. But he must have heard her arrival, for he turned and looked in her direction. She couldn’t tell from his expression if he was glad to see her there or not.
Not knowing what else to do, she drew a deep breath and got out of the car. “Am I intruding?”
He shook his head and moved toward her.
“I saw your truck and . . . and I wanted to thank you again for allowing me to keep the violin. I finished my first lesson about fifteen minutes ago.”
His smile was brief, and the look in his eyes, now that he was closer, was sad. “How was it?”
“If you don’t mind the sound of a cat howling in the middle of the night, then you wouldn’t mind the sounds I managed to make. My teacher is patient. Sainted, even. Or maybe she’s hard of hearing.”
This time his smile was more genuine and lingered a few moments longer. “Are you going to love playing it as much as you thought you would?”
“Yes. I feel joyful just holding the violin.” The admission embarrassed her, and she glanced downward.
“I’m glad, Chelsea. Seeing your joy brings me joy too.”
She looked up again.
“I was in need of that at the moment.”
“You were?”
He nodded.
“I . . . I’m sorry. For whatever’s wrong. For whatever’s made you unhappy.”
She thought she understood, at least in small part. There were times in her life when a smile from a perfect stranger gave her the hope she needed. Like a ray of sunshine breaking through a cloud on a rainy day. She watched as Liam drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Determination replaced the sadness she’d witnessed.
“While you’re here,” he said, “let me show you around. I didn’t get to do that on Sunday.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Not intruding. Come to think of it, you don’t know that I decided to buy it. Signed the paperwork today. Won’t take long for the transaction to go through. Nothing to be inspected, unless you count the old shed at the back of the property.”
“You’re buying the land from your father?”
“Before he could sell it off to somebody else. Yeah.” A frown creased his brow.
The look made her sorry she’d asked that particular question. “So, what do you intend to do with it?”
“I’m not sure.” He motioned for her to walk with him, and they set off along one side of the crumbling foundation. “Maybe I’ll build another house where the original one stood. Maybe a replica. I even thought it might make a good resort of some kind. A destination resort. Maybe for weddings and anniversary celebrations and reunions. That might be something.”
“That would be something, all right.”
He glanced her way, the hint of a smile returning. “Are you ridiculing me? Or is that a challenge?”
“Neither.” She returned his smile. “I’m not sure what anybody would do with a house of that size in this small town, but a resort might work.”
“Of course, if I built a replica, I could get married and have a dozen kids to fill up all the rooms.”
She sent him a look of disbelief. She remembered all too well the challenges of supporting a family on a limited income in a remote community. And her parents only had four children, not twelve. “How would you provide for them? Or do you plan to abandon them while you run off to Hollywood?” She heard the critical edge in her voice and half expected him to react in anger—as her father would have, as her former boyfriend would have.
But he didn’t. “I was kidding. About the dozen kids. Not about building on this site. Not about the possibility of a resort. The grounds are big enough. With the right landscaping, it could work.”
“But what about making movies? Do you intend to give that up to run a destination resort?”
“I don’t know yet.” He shrugged. “I’m waiting for God to make that clear to me.”
As quickly as it came, her annoyance vanished. Perhaps it was because Liam had declared his reliance on God for direction in his life. Or perhaps she realized she’d overreacted. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“If you owned the property, what would you build on it?” he asked.
“Me?” She let her gaze sweep over the grounds. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Think about it. I’d value your opinion.”
She looked at him, and pleasure spread through her. Had anyone ever valued her opinion before? What a rare and precious thing.
Cora
May 1896
Spring came late that year to the mountains of Idaho—or so everyone told Cora. It was nearly the end of May before the last traces of snow disappeared in Chickadee Creek.
The afternoon air was crisp but not cold on that Monday afternoon as Cora followed the rushing creek higher into the mountains, away from the town. She was accompanied by Rambler, the stray dog that had adopted her soon after the start of the new year. The dog had entered the school with some of the children one morning and had somehow become her constant companion. He was a rather ugly canine with wiry hair that hid his eyes. A piece of one ear had been torn away at some point, presumably in a fight with another dog or a large forest animal. Despite his appearance, though, Rambler wormed his way into Cora’s heart. Sarah’s, too, although the older woman grumbled about “the beast” on a regular basis.
The chatter of a chipmunk caused Rambler to dash into the forest underbrush. Cora stopped walking so she could watch his antics. It took him a while to locate the critter, sitting on a low branch of a tree. It scolded the dog, who continued to leap and bark and make a general ruckus, as Sarah would call it.
After a while, Cora called to him. “Let’s go, Rambler. Come on.”
She began walking again. In her right hand, she clutched the handle of her violin case. In the year since her flight from New York, she hadn’t once played her beloved instrument. She’d scarcely even looked at the violin for fear doing so might cause her resolve to waver. By now the instrument must be out of tune. Perhaps it would need repair. She couldn’t be sure. But today she meant to find out.
At first her decision not to play had to do with her father. He must know she’d taken her violin with her. Even he knew how much she loved to play. Whoever he’d hired to search for her—and she was certain, even now, there must be someone seeking her location—would be on the lookout for a woman who played the violin and played it well.
But a year had passed, and her father was unlikely to look for her in a place like Chickadee Creek. He wouldn’t be able to imagine her washing and ironing her own clothes or standing in a one-room schoolhouse, teaching twenty students ranging in ages from six to fourteen. It would never occur to him that she would walk through a forest accompanied by a scraggly-looking dog. Anyone searching for her would be sent to larger cities. Places where there were balls and theaters and operas. Citie
s where modern conveniences abounded. Surely it was safe for her to go off by herself and play her violin, to let the music embrace her heart and allow her spirit to soar.
Smiling, she drew in a deep breath through her nose. As she exhaled, she spread her arms wide and shouted, “I’m free!” As her words echoed through the forest, she began to laugh and turn in a slow circle.
Preston
May 1896
Preston leaned forward, his forearm resting on the pommel of the saddle. He grinned as he watched Cora Anderson turn in a slow circle, laughing, her head thrown back. Even from where he rested on the ridge high above her, he felt her joy.
“I’m free,” she’d shouted moments before.
Free from what? he wondered.
Chickadee Creek was a small town, and in the months since Cora’s arrival, Preston had heard only good things about her. Students and parents seemed to like her. His housekeeper, Sarah Mason, praised her on a regular basis. Still, Preston had little firsthand knowledge of the young woman. Except for Sundays, he spent nearly every daylight hour in the mine offices or surveying the various Chandler lands. That had left him little time to get to know the pretty schoolteacher. And the demands upon his time had increased with the arrival of the dredger.
In fact, he’d been returning from the dredger to the mine offices when he saw Cora walking on the trail below him. Something compelled him to rein in and watch her pass. Only she’d stopped, shouted, and twirled, all of it completely unexpected. When he saw her at church on Sundays, she was reserved and quiet. Nothing like the joyous woman he saw on the trail below.
The change intrigued him.
Cora stopped turning in that slow circle, then stepped to a fallen tree a short distance off the trail. A dog followed her there, and Preston remembered Sarah telling him about the stray Cora had adopted this past winter. But the dog he saw wasn’t the sort of canine Preston had imagined with her. It was as ugly as she was beautiful.
Cora sat on the log and opened the violin case she carried. The same one, he assumed, that she’d clutched when disembarking from the stagecoach the previous fall. A short while later, she took the instrument from the case. She held it, stared at it, as if not quite sure what to do with it. But that was a mistaken impression. Moments later, she played a single note. The sound rose and spread through the forest. She played the same note again, touched something on the instrument, then repeated the actions a number of times. Only when she moved on to another note did he understand what she was doing: tuning the violin.
He couldn’t have said why he continued to sit there, waiting and watching, listening to a single note repeated again and again. But he received his answer when the tuning was complete and she began to play. At first, it seemed a simple enough melody, but after a time it grew more powerful. So powerful and moving that he forgot to breathe. It was as if the forest became a cathedral. Never in his life had he heard anything like it. Truly, the instrument wept, and he wanted to weep with it.
Preston was a stranger to the emotions rising within him, and he felt the need to escape the music before he lost control. He tightened the reins to back his horse away from the edge of the ridge. At that same moment, however, the music stopped. In an instant Cora’s head lifted, and her gaze met with his. Even with the distance between them, he read fear on her face.
What should he do now? Ride away. Or go to her. He preferred the first option. He chose the second.
The way down to the trail was steep, but his horse had traversed it before. Somehow he managed to pay attention to both the descent and the woman who was his destination. By the time he reached her, the violin was put away and she clutched the case against her chest as if it were a shield.
“Miss Anderson.” He tipped the brim of his hat before stepping down from the saddle.
She took a step back.
“Sorry I frightened you. I can see you weren’t expecting an audience.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t.”
“I’m surprised Mrs. Mason hasn’t told me you can play like that. It was the most moving thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Sarah hasn’t heard me play,” she answered softly, her gaze dropping to the ground between them.
“That’s a shame. A gift like that ought to be shared.”
She looked up again. A little of the fear had left her lovely eyes, replaced by a sliver of pleasure.
“I’ve heard my share of fiddling at barn dances and such,” he continued. “But nothing like the song you played. I imagine those are reserved for concert halls.” He arched an eyebrow. “Would I be right about that?”
“Do you mean, did I ever play in a concert hall? No. Appearances by women musicians are rare in such places. There are exceptions, of course, but those are most often in Europe rather than in America.”
He remembered his first impression of Cora Anderson as she’d stepped from the stagecoach. He’d thought she couldn’t possibly be a schoolteacher, let alone that she would want to live in this little town. Everything about her seemed to cry privilege, education, and the upper class. She was polished and refined, and he’d expected her to be spoiled and egotistical, even selfish.
“Why did you come to Idaho?” he asked impulsively.
She stiffened. “I beg your pardon.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just . . . It’s so obvious that . . . that—” He broke off.
“That I don’t belong here?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Being raised in a certain place or in a certain way does not mean a person belongs there, Mr. Chandler.” She stood a little taller, her shoulders squared, her chin lifted. “I came to this town to make a new life for myself. It has become my home. Is there some reason you don’t think I should be here?”
Preston swept the hat from his head and raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “No, miss. That’s the last thing I want you to think.” As he spoke the words, he realized how true they were. He knew her only slightly, and yet he knew he would feel the loss if she left Chickadee Creek. “Please, forgive me if I spoke out of turn.” He drew a deep breath. “And I want you to know, I’d give just about anything to hear you play that song again.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, but it was accompanied by a smile.
Preston should have realized then and there that he was a goner.
Chapter 13
Taking a breather from sorting and organizing, Chelsea sat in the window seat at the back of the second story of the antique shop. Her cell service didn’t work most places in Chickadee Creek, but thanks to Wi-Fi she could still receive and send internet calls and text messages. She smiled when she saw she had a new text from Evelyn. But the smile didn’t last long.
Tom went to see Mom. So angry when she wouldn’t tell him where you are. He didn’t believe she didn’t know.
Chelsea hadn’t seen Tom Goodson in almost two months. Why wouldn’t he give up? She’d made it clear when they last spoke that she wasn’t interested in getting back together, that she was done with him, that anything they’d once shared was over for good.
A shudder passed through her when she remembered the night he’d sat in his car outside of her apartment. In the light from the parking lot, she’d seen him staring up at her windows. Something malevolent hung in the air that night, and she knew she had to get away soon. Aunt Rosemary’s invitation to stay with her in Chickadee Creek arrived two days later.
A miracle, of sorts.
A miracle . . .
“I’m still waiting for God to make that clear to me.”
Remembering Liam’s words from a week before, she frowned. Since God had been able to bring her to safety in Chickadee Creek, without any effort on her part, she knew He could handle her other worries, that He would either open a door or give her wisdom to know what she was to do.
With her thumbs, she typed:
Are you safe? Is Mom safe?
The reply came:
>
Yes. Mom’s friend sent him away with a warning. He won’t come back.
Chelsea wondered if her sister was being entirely honest. Their father had been unpredictable in his rages. One moment he’d laughed with his wife and played with his children. The next he’d struck out in anger, harming whoever was in his path. There’d been no way to predict when or how or why it would happen or who would bear the brunt of it.
Tom’s behavior had been much the same, only she and Tom were almost four months into their relationship before she experienced his first explosion. In hindsight, she realized there’d been warning signs, but she hadn’t recognized them. Or perhaps she hadn’t wanted to recognize them. She’d been caught up in a romantic haze and had allowed herself to be swept along, even when doubts began to surface.
Lord Jesus, I brought this on myself and on my family by not listening to that little voice telling me Tom wasn’t who I thought. Please keep Evelyn and Mom safe from him. I don’t know that he would threaten or hurt them. It’s me he wants to hurt. It’s me he’s angry with. But I’m unsure what he’ll do when he can’t find me. He’s erratic and volatile, and he knows where they live. Keep them safe, please.
Eyes still closed, she drew in a deep breath and released it. After a few seconds more, she realized she was waiting for panic to rise up, for fear to overtake her. It didn’t happen this time. Not the uncontrollable panic. She was concerned for herself and for her family, and she wondered what Tom might do next. But she was calm at the same time. She was able to think clearly and rationally. This must be what the Bible meant when it promised God would keep her in perfect peace if she kept her thoughts focused on Him.
The chime above the shop door sounded. Chelsea opened her eyes to see Liam enter the store. He glanced toward Aunt Rosemary’s favorite chair. Finding it empty, his gaze swept the lower level, then rose toward the second. He smiled when he found her.
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