Five Sisters (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Leen Elle

  The girls nodded in affirmation and thanked Betsy for her letting them stay in her home, the first words they were able to get in after her ongoing speech. She gave them all kisses, greeted them as her new daughters, and led the way upstairs with John and Ethan trailing behind with lackadaisical grins.

  The top floor of the house contained six bedrooms, all furnished with beautiful oak furniture and decorated with Betsy's keen eye.

  "And can you believe it?" Betsy exclaimed, "Nearly all of these rooms have been completely empty for years, save for a few visitors every so often. They're lovely rooms. It's a shame they were wasted away for so long. But now we've got so many guests they're all going to be filled! But of course, you girls aren't guests. You're family!"

  After pointing out the two rooms occupied by her, John, and Ethan, she headed across the hall to show the girls where they would be staying. Sara and Emy would be sharing a room, as well as Nora and Gail, but Mary would have a room all to herself. Of course, once Ethan and Mary moved out after the wedding, all of the sisters would have a room all their own.

  All of the rooms were vaguely reminiscent of one another, with oak, four-poster beds, a trunk for their belongings, a dresser for all their gowns, and a window overlooking the countryside. Elegant toiles covered the beds, simple braided rugs lay upon the floors, and noble portraits and silhouettes adorned the walls. They were spacious and comfortable and charming, everything the St. James sisters had dreamed of.

  The servants brought up their luggage and just as they'd begun unpacking Milly, one of the maids, arrived with the lemonade and warm scones.

  Not once during the past hour had they thought of Charlie or Sawyer or Brook or Nathaniel. Such an enchanting home prevented their worries from arising and seemed to mend their broken hearts, if only for moments.

  Once they were all settled in, each of the sisters decided to search for a bit of amusement, finding it oddly freeing not to be constricted by a wild ocean or a rather small ship. Ethan and Mary sat in the parlor, still talking and talking and sharing the events of the past three months. Emy, offering to help Betsy cook supper, stood in the kitchen kneading bread dough and listening to the old woman talk on and on about how excited she was to have girls in the house after living with two men for so long. Nora and Sara sat on the porch, with either a needle and thread or a book to keep themselves occupied. And Gail, returning to her old ways, was walking about the countryside with a spring in her step, admiring the tall trees and bird nests and grassy hills and placid lake; it seemed that everything she saw amazed her.

  Before long, Betsy was calling the girls in to eat and they joined together around the long dining table with John at the head. They said their blessings and feasted on a lovely meal of roasted hen and crisp vegetables and the warm bread that Emy had baked herself. All was merry and well, and then, there came a sudden knock upon the door. Betsy jumped up from her seat with a laugh.

  The girls listened as Betsy greeted their guest and, evidently, hugged him and kissed his cheeks until he was laughing as well.

  Then, with a broad grin, she led him into the room and Emy was so surprised she nearly fell out of her chair.

  It was Brook, who'd ridden straight to Brighton after receiving John's letter that morning. He was a bit windswept, his hair rather unkempt and his jacket wrinkled, after riding such a long way on horseback, but he looked the same as ever to the girls. His limbs were still long and thin, attached to his tall frame, and his skin was still pale and milky. Misty, hazel eyes brightened in delight at the sight of the girls and he quickly reached up a hand to try to tidy his shock of black hair. Over his white collared shirt and brown trousers he wore a long, sand-colored riding jacket and he held his hat, a rusty tweed, in his hand.

  "Oh it's wonderful to see all of you again!" he exclaimed, looking at the sisters, "It feels as though it's been years since we left Laraford. Did you have a good trip?"

  And as he spoke, the girls stood up from their chairs politely, and he walked around the table to greet each one with a handshake and a kiss. Emy nearly fainted when he came to her, placing his lips swiftly upon her cheek and squeezing her hand.

  As Brook greeted the girls, John went to the other room to find an extra chair for his nephew. And where should he place it but directly beside Emy! The poor girl felt her heart begin to beat rapidly as he sat down beside her, his scent of paints and charcoal smelling heavenly to her slanted taste.

  At the other end of the table, Mary, Betsy, and Nora were involved in an animated discussion about the details of the wedding, with Betsy bubbling in happiness as she listened to all of Mary's plans. Ethan, meanwhile, was relating all the hidden secrets of the countryside to a very interested Gail. He told her of cool ponds surrounded by pine trees and stone walls encircling pretty gardens of wildflowers and even of a small, abandoned cabin located way out in a forest of aspen trees. John sat silently, as he often did, enjoying the newfound liveliness of his table and adding in a comment, every so often, to Ethan and Gail's discussion. And in the center of the table, Brook and Sara were getting reunited again, while Emy listened quietly.

  "How was the ship you traveled over on? Have a good trip?"

  "Yes, very nice," said Sara, sipping some of her tea, "It wasn't anything huge, but we didn't mind. We were just thankful to find a ride over here!"

  "Well I'm glad you finally arrived. Aunt Betsy's been talking nonstop about how excited she is to meet you for weeks. And besides," he gave a sly smile, "I'm in need of a new model."

  Sara giggled, "We're not going to start that again, are we? I've told you time and time again that I hate it when . . ."

  "When I draw you," finished Brook, "Yes, yes. I know. Oh but you do make such a lovely model. Especially when you're caught up in a novel and don't even notice me. Did you get to read much on the trip?"

  "Of course. Constantly. And I've heard there's quite a library here that I look forward to seeing."

  Brook nodded, taking a big bite out of his bread, "Uncle John's quite a reader himself. You two should get along fantastically."

  And as Brook spoke, John finally decided that perhaps it was time he entered the conversation as well. He turned to Sara and asked her what her favorite books were, which she replied to with great enthusiasm and then returned the question back to him. He assured her that he would show her the library tomorrow and then began to describe it with a sparkle in his eye.

  Thus, Sara had left Brook without anyone to talk to. And since Emy was sitting so modestly at his side, it was only natural that he should direct a question towards her instead.

  "How about you, Em? Did you have a good voyage?"

  Emy nodded, her voice soft, "Yes, I had a very nice time."

  "I know Sara was caught up in her novels, but what did you do to keep yourself occupied?"

  "Well, Mary and I often sewed together and we took care of the majority of the meals. Plus, the sailors were always there to keep us busy. They'd tell us stories of the sea life or teach us to fish or invite us to play a game of cards. With sixteen sailors aboard, the trip was never a bore."

  Brook was slightly aghast. In all the years he'd spent in the company of the St. James sisters, he'd never heard more than a few sparse words at a time from Emy. To hear her speak so much more, in that sweet, subtle voice of hers, was both an astonishment and a joy.

  He chuckled, "I'm sure, I'm sure."

  Emy bit her lip rather nervously but asked, "And have you been enjoying yourself at school? Is it everything you hoped it would be?"

  "That and more. I've got classes in sketching and watercolor and sculpture and history. History can be a bit boring at times, the professor's very old and monotonous, but it is all very interesting. Right now we're learning about several famous French artists."

  "Really? Oh I love French art! Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec and Caillebotte and . . ."

  Brook grinned, "I didn't know you knew so much about art. You've heard of Caillebotte?"

  Emy lau
ghed and nodded eagerly, "Of course. His La Rue de Paris: Temps de Pluie is my favorite. I've always dreamed of buying a copy and hanging it in my parlor when I marry."

  "And you like Degas too? I shouldn't be surprised, with all his paintings of ballet dancers. He seems to be a favorite among light-footed women. Who else do you like?"

  "Monet, of course, and Henri-Joseph Harpignies, he does such charming and simple work, and Breton and Cezanne. Oh, and Camille Pissarro too! He's surely one of my favorites. But it's just so hard to choose."

  And so they talked. On and on, about French artists and Brook's school and how lovely it would be to paint the landscape of Brighton, with its rolling hills and aspen forests. Brook had never known what an amiable companion Emy could make, for she had always been so bashful before, and Emy had never known what a giant rush could run through one's heart when one was speaking with the man they adored.

  Brighton was certainly as wonderful, if not more so, than the sisters had hoped. With a welcoming family, a splendid house, and the beautiful countryside, the ship and sailors were long wiped from their minds. But as soon as they laid down to rest that night, and their surroundings were hidden in the darkness, three of the sisters became miserable once more, thinking of the men they had lost.

  CHAPTER 28

  A Lazy Afternoon

  One week had passed and the Lindsey home still hadn't lost any of its initial charm as Brighton headed into the cold days of November. Almost all the leaves had fallen to the ground, where they now blew about with the wind, and the trees were left as darkened outlines and shadows. The countryside gradually lost its brightness as the green grass faded into yellows and the flowers dried up and died, not able to bear the chilly temperatures. But no matter how the landscape changed, the girls still thought it looked beautiful. No variation could sway their opinions.

  On this particular morning, the weather wasn't quite so cold as usual and it was actually a rather sunny day. Ethan, with Mary's arm hooked onto his elbow, led the way out to the hills where the Lindseys and the St. Jameses would spend their afternoon. Behind them, Nora and Sara walked, carrying books, gameboards, a deck of cards to waste the hours away with. Then came Brook and Emy, laden with paints, a canvas, and a basket filled with their lunch. And finally, lagging near the end of the group, Gail dragged her feet onward and continually picked up pieces of wild grass, braiding them with nimble fingers.

  As they reached a suitable spot to settle for the afternoon, the seven young people sat down in the shade of a giant beech tree.

  Nora quickly engaged Gail and Ethan in a game of cards while Mary started stitching the corners of a quilt and Sara stuck her nose into a book. Brook, leaning against the trunk of the tree, was sketching in his notebook and Emy sat quietly, watching him work from the side.

  As he noticed her wondering eye, he glanced up with a smile, "May I ask what you find so interesting?"

  Emy blushed, "Oh, nothing, nothing. I just . . . I like watching you draw."

  "Could I ever tempt you to act as my model? Landscapes are easy compared to the proportions of the human body. For some reason, no matter what anyone else says, I always find that my sketches of people are just a smidgen off. And without Sara to agree to help and . . ."

  Sara, her face hidden behind the pages of her novel, lowered the book slightly to reveal a raised eyebrow, "Oh the memories, Brook," she laughed, "Oh the memories."

  "Years and years of torment," Brook smiled, reciting the words as though he was the narrator of a story.

  "Not years and years! Three, at the most. I haven't known you for more than four."

  ". . . Hundreds of pleas and endless begging . . ."

  "When there were so many others available to choose . . ."

  ". . . And yet, in the end . . ."

  "It's uncomfortable to have someone staring at you for such a long time! Anyone can agree to it."

  ". . . The lovely young girl with sparkling eyes, a head full of dreams, and her nose in a book . . ."

  "Well that's awfully nice of you to say, Brook, but I . . ."

  ". . . Maintains her firm stance and refuses, absolutely repulses at, the idea of posing as my muse when it's really a very simple task . . ."

  "Your muse? When have I ever been your muse . . ."

  "When?" Brook gasped, placing a hand mockingly on his chest, "When, you ask? My dear, my darling, my love, the question is not when have you ever been my muse, but when have you ever not been my muse. For, my dear Sara," he took her hand, though she gave it unwillingly, "I shall never find a model with as much grace or charm or . . ."

  Sara giggled, using her free hand to slap her book jokingly upon his head, "Oh quit it already, Brook!"

  He laughed as well, but kissed her hand lightly, "For the memories and fragments of drawings which shall last a lifetime."

  Sara giggled, "Your very welcome."

  For a moment the two were silent again, listening as Ethan and Gail fought over whose turn it was in their game, and then Brook suddenly stood up. He brushed off his pants, set down his pencil, and offered a hand towards Sara, asking as he did so, "Would you like to join me for a short walk?"

  To Emy's disappointment, Sara set down her book and took Brook's hand, letting him lift her to her feet. It wasn't often that Sara would willingly stop reading and Emy didn't like that she should choose to do so after a simple offer from Brook. She'd been mourning over her miseries since they'd arrived. Why did she have to choose now, this afternoon, to start smiling again and run off with Brook?

  Picking up a small dandelion as they walked, Sara struggled to blow off all the flimsy, feathery seedlings. Brook watched her with an amused smile.

  "I do hope you're liking Brighton so far," he said as they parted from the group, heading off a little ways to the side for privacy.

  "Oh course," Sara huffed, losing her breath from so much blowing, "How could I not?"

  "I'm glad you think so. I've become quite partial to the town myself. Pity I have to spend so much time in Clarendon for school."

  Sara didn't reply, but picked up two more dandelions from beside her feet.

  "It was awfully hard to wait for you all to arrive," continued Brook, watching her carefully, "Even with my studies to keep me busy I couldn't help thinking of you and your sisters and if you would arrive quickly and safely. And you should have seen Ethan. He was a nervous wreck the entire time. Always worrying about the new house and whether Mary would like it and how you girls would like Brighton and whether the sailors were kind to you and if you would arrive in Brighton safely and . . . and . . . boy, was he nervous. I'm just glad everything turned out so well. I was afraid the poor boy might kill himself if it didn't."

  Taking a break from her weeds, Sara replied, "Mary was awfully scared as well, I think. Scared but excited. I'm just glad they're finally together and happy. There's nothing more wonderful to see than a couple as happy as Ethan and Mary."

  Brook laughed, "You know, Ethan once told me that he and Mary have been hoping for quite some time that you and I would marry someday as well."

  Sara blew fiercely, her breath growing short as she struggled to remove the last few seedlings. Her cheeks quickly grew pink with exhaustion, "Mary told me that too. They've been dreaming it up for years. Trying to play matchmakers, I suppose."

  "Well they tried hard enough, didn't they?"

  "I'll say."

  "But you can't blame them for trying. It would be awfully perfect for the pair of them if we were to marry. Ethan's cousin and Mary's sister. We'd all be family. Of course, we'd be family anyway because of their marriage, but still."

  "I think Mary was really just desperate to find me someone. She thinks I'll end up an old maid in a house filled with nothing but books."

  "Same with me. Only Ethan thinks I'll end up alone with only my paints and my pencils and my canvas to keep me company."

  "Are you still alone? I mean, you didn't find some wonderfully beautiful and charming young girl at school to
capture your heart away?"

  "No . . . There aren't many women at Clarendon, to tell the truth. Mainly men," he paused, casting a furtive glance towards her, "And what about you, my dear? No handsome, roguish sailors to spark your fancy?"