Ginger Snap
Lockets & Lace #25
Marisa Masterson
Ginger Snap
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Grace for a Drifter ©2020 Marisa Masterson
Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt
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Branding for the Lockets and Lace Collection by Carpe Librum Book Design.
Editing by Amy Petrowich
Formatting by Christine Sterling
1st Ed.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Note
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Sneak Peek
About Marisa
Lockets & Lace
The Lockets & Lace multi-author series is brought to you by some of the authors who blog for Sweet Americana Sweethearts. Each book in the Lockets & Lace series is a clean, sweet historical romance. You may find all the books in this series as they are published by searching for “Lockets and Lace” on Amazon.com
Lockets & Lace Collection series
Book #20 - Linda Carroll-Bradd - Transforming Emma
Book #21 - Patricia PacJac Carroll – Cassie’s Surprise
Book #22 - Caryl McAdoo – Bitter Honey
Book #23 - Abagail Eldan – Grace Unimagined
Book #24 - Zina Abbott – Hannah’s Handkerchief
Book #25 - Marisa Masterson – Ginger Snap
Book #26 - Kimberly Grist – Willow’s Worth
A complete list of all titles can be found at the back of this book.
Dedication
Much thanks to my Super Sacred Six, the best beta readers an author could have to help. Thanks much Becky, Cindy, Lou, Marcia, Sandy, and Theresa.
Thanks also to the readers who helped to name the animals in this book—
Susan Landreth named Abner, Theo’s horse. It was a perfect fit, one I would never have thought of on my own.
Jessica Dismukes educated me on Shepherds and suggested the name of Willard’s dog, Blue.
Debbie Turner chose an appropriate and regal name for the parrot belonging to two refined southern ladies—Beauregard. I can’t imagine a better one for that bird.
Chapter 1
“Blast it! The wrong kid died!” Spittle flew, along with those words, from her stepfather’s red face.
Ginger Snap cringed, hunching thin shoulders. He meant her. She should have died, not Guy. Then, Step Pappy would be happy.
His hand gripped the jar, and she watched him gulp the home brew. Nights never ended well when he sampled his own product.
Usually, he sold it and avoided drinking the profits. The corn crop these last two years had been poor. The soil seemed tired, like the earth felt as listless as herself. He rarely drank because of the poor crop. There just wasn’t enough product to spare. She supposed the letter Asa Bromley had brought them that day had Wiley Snap craving a drink.
A loud belch echoed in the quiet room. Step Pappy swiped a sleeve across his mouth and pointed with the jar toward the rough wooden table.
“Read it again, Ginger. Got me brain juices flowing now so I kin spy us an answer to this.” He glowered at her as he waited.
She only shrugged and did as requested. Throwing her long red-gold braid over a shoulder, she retrieved the letter from the table. The only light in the room was the fireplace. Kerosene for lamps was costly. Theirs had run out around Christmas.
Settling into a hand-lathed chair her own father had made soon after his marriage, she held the single page near the fire. Taking care that a spark didn’t catch it ablaze, she squinted in the flickering light. Clearing her throat, she began to read, a formal tone to her voice.
Dear Mr. Guy Snap,
It is incumbent upon me to be the bearer of sad tidings. Your Uncle Tavish Snap has met with an accident and passed away. While I know this will be shocking and saddening news for your family, I must deal with the business associated with his passing.
I am contacting you as his lawyer. You, as his brother’s only son, are heir to his farm and contents as well as any monies in his bank account. Your uncle was an industrious and thrifty man. He did well and left an inheritance I feel sure you will want to claim.
Please make your way to Kearney. I would like to discuss the stipulations of the will with you as well as turn over the care of the farm and its livestock to you.
Sincerely yours,
Melvin Edwards
Step Pappy snorted. “My cousins always did take to workin’. Imagine leavin’ a farm to a kid ‘stead of me. Stupid man probably thought your brother’d be alive another eighty years.”
Curse words fired out Wiley Snap’s mouth. When he mentioned Guy’s death, the man glared at Willard. That one ignored everything, not bothering to notice the menace directed his way.
Wild Willy. That’s what the kids in the Hollow had christened him. Ginger watched him and thought he looked anything but wild. His thick tongue protruded, trapped by his teeth, as he carefully stacked one block a top the other.
Most of the paint that once brightened the toys was gone. He gripped the block tightly in a beefy fist and placed on the tower he built. When it toppled, those powerful hands clapped as he wheezed out his odd laugh.
He’d been doing that same thing the day Sheriff Anderson came to ask about Guy’s death. He took a gander at the killer stacking baby blocks and shook his head.
A sigh slipped past her winter-cracked lips as Ginger remembered the sheriff’s words about the thirteen-year-old killer stacking baby blocks.
“Don’t let him off the place. I knows Guy was the one to challenge Willard to the wrastlin’ contest. Still, young bucks in town are stirred up something fierce. Blamin’ you first and then Wild Willy for the death. Guy was a favorite around the Hollow.”
Hearing her sigh, Step Pappy rose and patted her, an unusually kind gesture for him. Immediately on guard, she stiffened. He rarely showed kindness, only when he had a con in mind. Whatever he planned must involve her, and a sinking feeling confirmed it.
With a pudgy hand on her shoulder, the conniver squeezed almost painfully. Ginger willed herself to remain still, unresponsive. “You missin’ your brother. The two of ye were as near to bein’ twins as can be without you were born the same time. Must a been a year apart.”
She whispered her response in the quiet room. A knot in the wood popped as it burned in the hearth. Otherwise, her voice was the only sound. “Ten and a half months apart.”
“Yep. Like I thought. Two peas in a pod, ceptin’ you being a girl and all. That can be fixed, I’m a thinkin’.”
And there it was. The con, and she was at its center.
The heavy hand moved from he
r shoulder to grasp her heavy braid. Step Pappy’s other paw jerked the knife from his worn boot. One quick slash, and he severed the braid from her head.
He held it high, like a trophy of war. Like David holding Goliath’s severed skull. Then he moved to toss it onto the fire.
A squeal that seemed out of character erupted from her. Ginger sprang from the chair and grabbed the braid. Hugging it to her flat chest, she hunched protectively over it.
The movement caused the remaining hair to bounce against her neck. Feeling the touch of its ends at the top of her long white neck, she whimpered softly so no sound left her lips. No sound, not after the years of being an obedient drone to Step Pappy’s tyranny.
Obedient! And now, she had so little hair left.
When the older man made a move to grab back the braid, a low, quiet voice spoke from a shadowed corner of the room. It was unusual to hear the woman say anything, especially something that would be in Ginger’s favor. Typically, she berated and complained about Ginger.
Amy May Snap’s soft voice pleaded. “Let her keep it. She kin tuck it way as a remembrance. She can tell people it’s a remembrance of Guy’s dead sister.”
Then Ginger knew. The woman knew about the plan. Knew even before Step Pappy told Ginger to reread the letter.
Grunting like a feral pig, the man backed away and plopped into his rocker. He picked up his pipe and pointed its stem toward his wife. “Get ‘er bound and dressed, then. We gotta move along afore sunup.”
A house to pack before daybreak and a lazy man who didn’t plan to help! Neither her Step Ma nor Ginger reacted other than to do as he said.
Her body stiff, Ginger allowed the woman to grip her arm as Amy May led her to the house’s only bedroom. Ginger and Willard slept in a split loft above the main room. The ladder separated it into two sections, one for her and the other for Guy and Willard. It was similar to two rooms, only with no walls.
Pulling her through the doorway, Amy May lit one of their precious candles before shutting the door. The candles were running out quickly this year. The pig had been thin so there hadn’t been much tallow from the butchering to make the candles.
Pointing a finger at the girl, her stepmother hissed, “Strip quickly. We’ve work aplenty to do this night.”
When Ginger stood shivering in a thin chemise, the short woman stretched her arms up and bound a strip of cloth over the girl’s apple breasts. Small though it was, she made sure the bosom disappeared. Next, she tossed a pair of Guy’s pants and a wool shirt to Ginger.
Moving awkwardly as she accustomed herself to the binding, Ginger slipped the linen shirt over her head. It hung down almost to her knees, but the dark color helped to hide the wrappings underneath.
She stuffed the extra into the brown wool trousers she’d pulled on. Because her brother was a few inches taller than her, the extra material bunched around her waist, hiding curves she barely possessed. The suspenders attached to the brass buttons helped keep the loose pants on her. Even so, they definitely bagged. Maybe that would make her look less like a girl.
Amy May held the candle high and looked her over. “That’ll do.” The words hissed from the woman, along with a satisfied nod.
The next hours were a blur. Crates of food stuffs and small trunks of clothes were crammed tightly into the back of the farm wagon. Willard’s blocks were tied into a cotton bag, his mother hushing him when he complained.
Amy May handed the bag to him with an order. “Go sit in the wagon.”
The greatest care was given to the few knickknacks and lamps her mother had cleaned diligently while she still lived. As Amy May lifted a china shepherdess, memories flooded Ginger’s mind. She heard her mother telling about the piece surviving the trip from Scotland. Ginger’s grandmother had given it to her daughter on the day of her marriage.
“One day, you’ll marry. I’ll give it to you then.” Her mother smiled at Ginger as she carefully set the piece on the mantle. Sun wrapped around her as she looked down at her little daughter, the rays catching the gold in her mother’s red hair. Hair so like Ginger’s own.
Her stepmother’s scolding tone pulled Ginger from the sunny memory back to the dark main room. “Hurry, girl. Wiley wants us in Camden by the time the store opens. He’s planning to be on a train, come hell or high water.”
“But my parents’ home—”
A harsh laugh spewed from the other woman. She shoved at the stringy tendrils of hair escaping from the bun atop her head. None of this matter to the woman. She’d been married to Wiley Snap for less than a year and had brought nothing into the marriage except a few items of clothing and Willard’s blocks.
“Your ma and pa is in the churchyard. This be my husband’s place, got by him the day your ma married up with the man. Got you, too. Maybe you’ll finally be worth keeping around.” With a pinch to Ginger’s upper arm, the woman pointed out work for the girl.
Girl! She heard that word a hundred times a day. At nearly twenty-one, Ginger wondered when she would be a woman. She might be scrawny, but she was grown. A steady diet of good food would alter her thinness. Maybe Nebraska would provide that.
Did she want it to also provide a husband? Her ma had married Step Pappy three years before when her dead husband’s cousin pestered her into being his wife. Now he owned Ginger’s home, the only home she’d known. No wonder he’d wanted to marry up so badly with his cousin’s widow.
No, Ginger was in no hurry to find a husband. Not now, when she had a chance to live on her own land.
The office, like the entire building where Ginger now waited, was small. Its lack of windows made the room feel like a closet. She sat with her knees touching the attorney’s desk, wondering when Melvin Edwards would return.
When she and Step Pappy had entered the store-front that housed Mr. Edwards’ law practice, the man welcomed them enthusiastically. While pumping Wiley Snap’s hand, Edwards’ gaze took the youth’s measure.
Something about the man unnerved her. Ginger caught a surprised glint in his eyes. And disappointment. Had he believed they wouldn’t show up?
He’d led them into this small room, offering them seats in front of a scarred wooden desk. “Did your sister come with you?”
Red faced, Wiley blustered. With spittle flying, he glowered and growled, “Boy ain’t got a sister. What you yappin’ about?”
The lawyer’s eyebrow arched at Wiley’s reaction. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it without saying a word. Then, he jumped up and left without a word of explanation.
The small room held an airless feel. Ginger coughed at the smell of Step Pappy in these close quarters. The man dearly hated bathing, and that was the honest truth. Perspiration and pipe tobacco combined with the odor of horse apples, something the man had stepped in as they made their way from the depot.
Struggling to ignore her discomfort, she thought back over the last few terrible days. They’d traveled all night to cover the 30 miles into Camden with their heavily-loaded wagon. Thank the good Lord that no snow had covered the ground. Step Pappy hadn’t, of course, gotten around to moving the wagon box onto the sleigh runners.
With old Buck and Donny pulling the heavy load, only Wiley Snap rode in the wagon. His wife and stepchildren trudged behind it, watching for anything that might fall from the vehicle.
For Ginger, the trip seemed unending as she plodded in boots too large for her feet. She’d stuffed pieces of gunny sack into the toes of her brother’s boots. Unfortunately for her poor heels, that didn’t stop the boots from slipping up and down with each step. By the time the group arrived in town, Ginger wondered if she shouldn’t have walked over the frozen ground in bare feet.
But, what her stepfather did in Camden made Ginger forget the pain of her blistered feet.
She watched as the store owner examined each lamp and statue before grumbling out a price. As he turned the china shepherdess over to search for cracks, Ginger cringed. She opened her mouth to protest. Her words changed to a ga
sp of pain when Amy May kicked the back of Ginger’s sore foot.
The storeowner raised an eyebrow in her direction. Step Pappy only snorted and shook his balding head. “Neither boy’s right in the head. Don’t pay ‘em any mind.”
So, the shepherdess was gone. Perhaps someone would buy it as a wedding gift. Maybe a new family would start the tradition of handing down the china piece.
Each time she grew teary about the sale of her mother’s things, Ginger comforted herself with that hope. At least, she’d hidden the tatted lace gloves. Her mother had worn for them her own wedding. Step Pappy surely would have sold them if he’d known about the precious mementos. Ginger was determined she’d have them to wear someday as a bride.
Buck and Donny had been sold, along with the wagon. There’d been barely enough. Amazingly, the funds raised had allowed the family of five to travel third class to Kearney, Nebraska on the Union Pacific Railroad.
How grand that sounded in her mind. The reality of it paled as she remembered the hard, wooden benches placed in a train car that had once hauled freight.
They’d boarded that day, each carrying a trunk or a crate of provisions. Wiley Snap carried two small trunks, one under each arm. On the train she learned he’d sold his still and the poor, bedraggled farm the day before. Even so, he’d had very few coins rattling around his pockets. If the lawyer didn’t provide them with the promised farm and inheritance, the Snap family would be in a world of hurt.
Melvin Edwards moved quickly through the door, breaking the heavy silence. He plopped his thin frame down on the desk chair and opened the folder he carried.
“Now, as to the will of Tavish Snap, everything is straight forward.” He stopped and studied Ginger. She scowled at him, doing her best to remember and imitate her brother’s usual expression.
Whatever he saw must have satisfied the man. He continued speaking in an overly-formal tone. “Guy Snap, being the only son of Hugh Snap, is to inherit the farm buildings, 40 acres of land, and livestock. In addition, Mr. Tavish Snap leaves behind a bank account in the amount of three hundred and eighty-three dollars. He has a credit of eleven dollars at the mercantile, as well.”
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