Geneva: Garden of Joy (Brides of Grace Hill Book 1)

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Geneva: Garden of Joy (Brides of Grace Hill Book 1) Page 15

by Lisa Prysock


  Geneva’s hand flew to her heart, delighted by the news. She thought back to the many prayers she had prayed since the dreadful day when at the gate of the school Bryn’s behavior had caused such turmoil and the beginning of a myriad of difficulties. Once again, the Lord had answered her prayers for the Fenway Street Mission, for Bryn, and for Elizabeth. She had endured, overcoming the challenges while the good Lord brought good out of dark days of despair. Best of all, Bryn was accomplishing great things from an obviously reformed and renewed heart. She meant to convey her happiness for them in her response. It would have to wait for the episode before them to pass in order to finish her reply. Craymoore opened the door and announced the guest as Miss Abigail Harrington.

  “Good morning, Miss Harrington! Thank you, Craymoore! How nice of you to call. Please make yourself comfortable,” Millie said from her chair, extending a hand toward the open sofa and chair. Pendleton growled a low growl as the guest swept into the room wearing a pale pink crepe concoction and white gloves.

  “Good morning, indeed!” Abigail Harrington replied as she tugged at each of her fingertips one by one to loosen a white glove. “Please tell that dreadful mutt to stop growling at me!”

  “Pendleton, you know better than to growl at Miss Harrington!” Millie scolded gently as she patted his head. Both of Geneva’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Twas a reaction Pendleton customarily reserved for intruders and… cats.

  “I won’t take up your time,” Abigail continued saucily, removing one glove. She stood near the middle of the room with one hand on her hip. “I just wanted to get a look at your niece.”

  “Whatever for?” Aunt Millie inquired.

  “To congratulate the woman who stole Ridge’s heart from me!” Abigail removed the other glove. “In some ways, I think it will be a refreshing freedom to be rid of someone who hasn’t asked for my hand in marriage in over ten years of companionship. Perhaps I should be thanking you!”

  Geneva noted the extravagant shoes, gown, and hat Abigail wore. For a lady of about thirty years of age, she was a beauty with stylish brown curls dangling on each side of her face. Vivacious and alluring green eyes the color of the sea stared at Geneva. Sadly, at least at the moment, her demeanor lacked the most important elements of beauty: kindness and grace. Abigail’s actions and words were betrayed by a bitter and angry disposition. Jen supposed her remarks had some degree of just cause, but the problem was she could not respond. Not only did she remain inconclusive about her own feelings for Ridge, she couldn’t be certain she understood where Ridge stood. Abigail’s appearance might be some indication of Ridge’s true feelings. She tucked her thoughts on the matter away in her heart until she could work through her own uncertainties.

  Geneva bit her lip and remembered the last time someone had stood in the middle of the house spewing misinformed Welsh words. To this day, it was not a pleasant memory and one that she had all but forgotten until now. Perhaps her aunt’s advice to simply observe was a brilliant idea, indeed! Christ Himself had not reviled when they crucified Him. She must bite her tongue and follow His example. Besides, the thought of going against her aunt’s wishes did not bode well with her heart after all Millie had done for her. This time she would win the war on offensive words by remaining silent, though the last time had required a defense.

  Aunt Millie would be able to explain more about this mysterious visitor when Craymoore returned to whisk her away. Glancing at the grandfather clock revealed it wouldn’t be any longer than about two more minutes. She hadn’t become acquainted with many people from the area yet, another reason to keep her mouth clamped firmly shut. There would be time for more shopping and social excursions into Louisville during the summer when school wasn’t in session. Geneva decided she shouldn’t open her mouth and provide fodder for gossip. She gripped the pen fiercely, pressed her lips together, and prayed for strength to remain quiet.

  “Miss Harrington, my niece and I are unaware of what you imply, but we wish you no ill will of any kind! Ridge has been away on business. In fact, it will have been a full month since we’ve seen hide or hair of him.”

  “To my dismay, I’m fairly certain you’ll be seeing a lot more of him and very soon!” Abigail stared coldly at Geneva until she had the chills. She finally tore her eyes from Geneva to address Millie. “Ridge wrote a letter and told me he is in love with someone else. There is nothing I can do to win him back. I’ve tried everything while watching him slip through my hands.”

  Turning back to Geneva, Miss Harrington continued: “We all know who the someone else is Miss Rosemont, don’t we? Oh, there’s no need to feign your innocence simply because of your Aunt Millie’s presence. He’s spoken of little else since meeting you! I do hope the two of you will be very happy together, now you’ve destroyed my chances of happiness entirely. I’ve put a decade into our relationship, but sadly, it amounts to absolutely nothing but a broken heart. You come waltzing through the door from England… and in less than two months, have destroyed my future. Well we shall see what will become of you!”

  “That will be enough, Miss Harrington!” Aunt Millie rose from her chair. Pendleton growled louder this time and stood up on all four paws. Geneva couldn’t help but notice the darling, sweet dog rising to her defense. She really should try to make better friends with him.

  As if on cue, Craymoore opened the door! “It’s time to dress for your appointment ladies!”

  Miss Abigail Harrington turned around rapidly to exit, her pale pink hoop skirt swirling as she did so. She paused as she passed Craymoore. “No need to make up an excuse about what they must do to avoid speaking any further with me. I was just leaving!”

  When the door closed, Geneva nearly croaked as she reached for a cup of tea to soothe the lump in her throat, the ache in her heart for the sharp bitterness in Miss Harrington’s words, and digest the well of joy rising up in her own heart. Could any of it be true? Did Ridge truly love her?

  “Well done, my girl!” Aunt Millie pronounced. “Few ladies of your age could have refrained from a retort! She was looking for something to use against you, but you gave her nothing! You did well! Very well indeed! Let the good Lord handle that one!”

  “Aunt Millie, I have no knowledge of what she…”

  Millie held up a hand. “I know! She is simply bitter because Ridge has never proposed to her after all of these years. I guess we all expected he would eventually, but something has stopped him… and I would not be a bit surprised if it were my niece. He does have a way of looking at you I have noticed. As you can see, she is a bit on the spoiled and temperamental side. I suspect he’s been waiting for her to grow out of it all of these years, but I think he met you and has fallen quite in love.”

  “I have indeed observed her temperamental side,” Geneva replied. “I suppose we all have one from time to time…” Geneva couldn’t help but think of her own temper.

  “Just give it to the Lord, though it may sound hard to do, and though she made unjust accusations. The Lord knows the situation. I do believe Ridge is attracted to you, and I believe he is putting his fences in order as he prepares to pursue you.”

  “You do think this visit was an indication of his feelings for me?” Geneva inquired.

  “I certainly do. Do you love him?” Aunt Millie asked.

  Geneva bit her lower lip again. “I think so… but he and I… we… well, I do worry about his excessive travel history and frankly, I worried about Miss Harrington until now! Of less importance, we have an age difference of more concern to others than ourselves. I am troubled about his church attendance, though I believe he is of the faith.”

  “Yes, he is most certainly a man of the faith! He just demonstrates it differently. I’m fairly certain he would attend all services for you, my dear… just as he did for Amelia many years ago. There are sparks between the two of you, plain as day! So it is in every good marriage!” Aunt Millie stepped toward the door. “I must go tend my rose garden and permit you this time to finish your letter. T
here’s plenty of time as far as Ridge is concerned. I do want you to know, you won’t find a better man than Ridge Morgan. He’s had a hard road, but he always comes out on top. He has the Lord on his side and is a blessed man. His net worth is somewhere in the millions, though that’s really immaterial considering his plantation alone could provide for both of you; besides the fact you will have your own inheritance to bring to the table. A merger of Sarah Rose Hall and Grace Hill would make you the owners of one of the largest plantations in Kentucky, and all operating without slaves! Because you are my niece and of the highest caliber of women of faith, he won’t drag you on a ten year courtship leading nowhere! You may be young, but you’re worth ten of Abigail Harrington, and he well knows it!”

  Chapter 15.

  The Pink Slipper

  35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36 As it is written, for thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. 37 Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. Romans 8:35-37

  “Don’t make a sound or I’ll shoot!” A man’s large hand covered Millie’s mouth from behind and another aimed a rifle at her from the door at the far corner of the kitchen, not far from where she stood. She could feel the barrel of a gun poking her back through the pink and lavender floral wrapper worn over her white linen nightgown.

  Millie’s eyes were as big as saucers. The one near the door had a husky voice and seemed to be in charge: “Get in the back of the wagon and you won’t get hurt.”

  She blinked, unable to cry out for help with a hand over her mouth. Thank goodness she had a pair of pink crochet slippers on her feet. They weren’t much protection, but it was at least something. The man from behind removed his hand but immediately tied a towel around her mouth and neck, tugging on the knot at the back of her neck until it was so tight if she did try to make a sound, it would surely muffle and drown out her voice.

  “Should we blindfold her?” the voice behind her asked.

  The fellow with the husky voice opened the door to the kitchen and motioned with a sway of his head for her to go outside into the darkness. He was tall and unshaven. The one with the gun jabbing her back pushed her forward as the tall one issued orders: “Naw! Just get her to the wagon! Move lady!”

  She had just wanted a glass of warm milk to help her sleep. Maybe a slice of bread and a bit of cheese, too… but coming downstairs to the kitchen hadn’t been a very good idea. Who were these men? Where had they come from? How had they unlocked the kitchen door? Edna Tipper and Craymoore always made certain the manor was locked. It was too dark to see their faces very well. She had best get in the wagon and comply.

  Surely they just wanted funds. There wasn’t enough in her cash box to give them, and at this hour in the middle of the night, the bank was closed. It was pitch black outside. What was she thinking? They wouldn’t let her pack a bag of clothing… she couldn’t show up at the bank in her nightgown and wrapper in broad daylight without causing alarm… even if she could talk these men into releasing her for a tidy sum. Perhaps her thoughts weren’t very sensible in the situation. She told herself to try to focus and stay calm.

  “Get in the wagon!” the tall, husky, unshaven one repeated. “Hurry it up, Granny!”

  While she tried to climb into the back of the wagon without getting hurt using her hands to hold onto the side and her knees to climb in, the tall husky one turned back to the kitchen. “What are ya doin’ Charlie?” he hollered in a whisper.

  “Just drinkin’ this ‘ere milk and eatin’ a piece o’ bread!” A milder voice replied as the one who had been behind her exited the kitchen through the mud room with a loaf of bread and the cheese she had left on the work table in the center of the kitchen near her plate. In his other hand, he managed to carry his rifle, a jug of milk, and a pie!

  The tall one waved his rifle in her face when she had managed to hoist herself into the covered wagon and climb on her knees to the middle of the wagon. She huddled near the middle, but he motioned for her to move closer to the corner of the wagon nearest the driver. At least there was a blanket there in the corner. She scooted over to the blanket and prayed in the darkness. Turning, the tall one hollered in a husky whisper: “Charlie, there isn’t any time! Get in the wagon and drive!”

  “I was a hungry, Fred!”

  “Well, c’mon! We gotta go!”

  Apparently, the tall one was named Fred and the other, Charlie. She had to keep her wits about her if she was going to get out of this alive. Best to do what they said… They were hungry and she had food! If food was what they wanted, she could feed them, but they wouldn’t let her talk.

  Charlie tossed the loaf of bread and the cheese to Fred on his way to the driver’s seat. Fred jumped on the back of the wagon and sat on the drop-down gate, turning sideways to keep an eye on her. He scowled and pointed the barrel of the rifle at her. Charlie snapped the reigns and the wagon turned toward the chapel and the front gate of Grace Hill.

  She prayed silently: Dear Lord, help me! Let someone hear this wagon! Help me, Lord! Protect me, Lord! Psalm 91, Lord!

  Geneva and Pearl were the first to discover Aunt Millie’s absence early Friday morning. Since there were no classes on Fridays, it was Geneva’s day to have breakfast in the upstairs Sitting Room with her aunt. When Millie didn’t appear at eight o’clock, she knocked on her bedroom door and found her suite empty. The coverlet had been thrown back and a book lay open, the pages facing down on the pillow. Pearl had come to dress Millie and arrange her hair at seven-thirty. Upon not finding her mistress, she decided to return at eight thinking perhaps Mrs. Bradford had gone for a short walk upon the grounds.

  By half past eight, despite the lack of a customary note left with Edna Tipper, the housekeeper, or some other staff member, they considered Millie might have gone into the city to order a new gown from Miss Craig. Perhaps she’d had an early morning appointment for a fitting from a previous order. Millie did have a flair for fashion and enjoyed a new dress as much as any of the young ladies who attended the mission school. A quick search of the house proved to be fruitless, although when she arrived in the kitchen, Delia seemed upset over several missing items from the pantry. A loaf of bread, a jug of milk, and a pie had all turned up missing!

  “Betsy, can you make another pie? The stolen pie was one of our pies for dessert for this evening’s supper!” Delia complained.

  Betsy began measuring out flour for a pie crust. “Mrs. Bradford’s missing… and a pie! It just doesn’t make a bit of sense!”

  Laura went to the pantry and began filling a bowl with apples to slice. “I finished shelling the peas. I can help slice the apples.”

  “Diolch, ladies… for pitching in! I’ll go check with Henry. Maybe he knows something we don’t…” Geneva offered. “Perhaps Aunt Millie went to give a pie to someone in need.”

  Geneva found Henry Scott to inquire if Aunt Millie had taken a conveyance from the stables and carriage house. If she had gone to deliver a pie to a neighbor, Henry would know. He had been at his post since early in the morning. Without even a blink of his eyes, he could confirm no one on the grounds had departed with any Grace Hill conveyances. The stables and carriage house were full.

  Gravely concerned, at nine o’clock, Jen walked dejectedly through the shrub garden toward the rear kitchen entrance. She needed to eat something for breakfast to put an end to the growling in her stomach. She had missed eating her usual breakfast tray in the search for her aunt. There wasn’t much time to eat if she was going to find Millie, but maybe she could find a leftover biscuit and try to make a plan. Surely her aunt would turn up somewhere.

  That was when she saw it! One of Aunt Millie’s pink crochet slippers lay oddly out of place on the worn dirt path behind the kitchen. How had she missed seeing it on the way to the stables? Had Aunt Millie left her a clue as to her whereabouts? She bent down an
d picked it up, turning it over to examine it. Just one slipper and no sign of Aunt Millie... She looked closely at the area. It almost looked as if wagon wheel tracks had turned around in the area to go toward the chapel and then… the gate to the entrance of Grace Hill. She was fairly certain with these clues someone had taken Millie, but where, who, and why?

  The next few days were a blur for Geneva. Henry fetched the constable after she showed him the pink slipper, the wagon tracks, and another search of the property had been conducted. The constable had been reassuring but unable to provide much support. He did file a report and declared his intent to put together a small search party. The pink slipper and the missing items from the pantry were the only clues she had to convince the constable Aunt Millie had indeed been taken. Her fingers constantly flew to the threads of pink yarn in the hours ahead while she considered how to find her aunt. Please, Lord, help me! Keep Aunt Millie safe and bring her home to us!

  After the second full day had passed and they were no closer to finding Aunt Millie, she dispatched a stable hand Henry had said he could spare, a rider named Caleb. She sent him with a letter addressed to Ridge imploring him for help. She gave Caleb stern instructions to try to locate Ridge at the Philadelphia address in Aunt Millie’s desk. She had scoured the addresses looking for the one which might provide a way to contact Ridge. The address had a little note beside it with the names of Ridge’s maternal grandparents living in Pennsylvania. She was hopeful the address was the same one her aunt had given Jackson, Ridge’s friend, only about a week prior. Sending Caleb to find him left Henry with one less wagon, two fewer teams of horses, and only three remaining stable hands: Abner, Timothy, and Bird-dog. They would just have to make do.

 

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