Table of Contents
BITTERSWEEP
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
BITTERSWEEP
WAREEZE WOODSON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
BITTERSWEEP
Copyright©2018
WAREEZE WOODSON
Cover Design by Syneca Featherstone
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-708-4
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Books by Wareeze Woodson
Conduct Unbecoming of a Gentleman
An Enduring Love
A Lady’s Vanishing Choices
Bittersweep
Dedicated
To
Harold
Beloved spouse, endlessly missed until we meet again
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my critique partners for their excellent advice and suggestions. They were always there, always encouraging, and always pushing. I finally finished Bittersweep.
Chapter 1
After fifteen years, can I find my mother’s box? Can I remember exactly where she tucked the chest away? I was only five. Will her box still be there, hidden, or will it be destroyed?
Elizabeth Campbell peered out the window of the passenger car as the locomotive puffed into the station at Bittersweep, Texas, belching ash from the smokestack. The train came to a screeching halt beside the station. She folded the newspaper dated August 10, 1897, and positioned it under her arm slowly rising from her seat. Drawing a deep breath, she curled her fingers around the handle of her carpetbag. Tension bunched her neck and shoulder muscles as she stepped out onto the wooden platform.
The warm midday sun of late summer washed the scene in heat and vivid light but did nothing to lessen the dark apprehension or the pain in her heart. Perhaps I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t want to return, but I’m back. I need this teaching position, desperately.
She followed her shadow into the shade afforded by the overhang of the roof to the train station’s ticket office. At least I may have a chance to discover what really happened all those years ago.
Allowing her gaze to survey the little settlement nestled deep in the piney woods of East Texas, Elizabeth found much had changed. The sleepy community had grown into a small township. The once-familiar dry dust kicked up by horses’ hooves, the creak of saddle leather, the rumble of wagon wheels rolling past, and boots tramping along the boardwalk remained relatively the same, only more so—more of everything—noise, people, and shops. Faint odors of roasting meat floated out from the inn’s dining room across the street and pummeled her with memories. Memories she couldn’t shake. Memories were one of the reasons she’d been afraid to return to Bittersweep. Still, now that she had returned, she must find answers.
Tormenting glimpses from fifteen years ago flashed inside her head. The sounds of crackling, consuming fire and the acrid smell of smoke rising above the trees from where her home once stood roared through her mind. The noise of rattling wheels beneath the wagon carrying her away from Bittersweep ripped through her memories dragging her back into the past. Her stomach knotted and she fought down the need to heave up the few bites of apple she’d eaten on the train. She swallowed, forcing herself to relax.
Conscious of her long hair flowing down her back in waves, always admired for the shiny thickness and rich dark color, she ducked her head. Elizabeth hoped nobody remembered the larkspur blue color of her eyes, a dead giveaway as to her identity. Save for that, after fifteen years, none would recall the looks of a five-year-old child. She avoided direct eye contact with the people on the walkway to cover the trepidation roaming free in her heart.
Although from here she couldn’t possibly see where her home once stood, she avoided looking to the South. An overwhelming urge to gaze in that direction finally claimed her, and she stepped off the platform, coming to a dead-still stop. Lost in memories, she stared at the distant trees. For a brief moment, the noise faded, smells ceased to exist for her, and even the heat failed to penetrate. Tremors of pounding hooves vibrated through the soles of her shoes, coming closer and harder until the rattling of wagon wheels jerked her out of her reverie with a start, but in that confused instant she couldn’t move. The hammering of her heart obliterated all sounds again and the air swooshed from her lungs when she saw the out-of-control team bearing down on her. She tried to move out of the way, but she remained paralyzed with fright.
Gloved hands grasped her shoulders, jerking her back against a hard, lean body as the crazed horses stampeded past. Weak with relief and trembling from head to toe, she gradually gained control enough to realize she rested against a muscled male chest. The pounding of his heart echoed in her ears and against her back matching the rapid beat of her own. She glanced over her shoulder and looked up—way up into his hazel eyes, grim, hard, and sparking with cold anger.
His gaze seemed to see everything, delving into her darkest secrets. Hostile, even repelled by the thread of tension he’d created, she still couldn’t break free. Her skin prickled with irritation and awareness where his fingers gripped her shoulders. She flinched, wanting to brush his touch away, to move out of his embrace, but she couldn’t break the contact, couldn’t find her voice, or prevent the heat of annoyance from covering her face.
“Lady, are you aiming to die?�
� he thundered. “You came mighty close to it.” He twisted her around to face him, his hands gripping her upper arms. “If you don’t care about yourself, you might consider other folks.”
His sharp words brought her out of the trance. Stunned with the reaction to her close call, she blinked up at him, silent. When she failed to answer, the pressure of his hands on her shoulders increased, and she winced. “You’re hurting me.”
He dropped his hands, dipped his head with a little shake, and exhaled heavily before gazing directly into her eyes again. “I don’t know how this came about—me apologizing to you. But I do beg pardon for the rough handling.”
His eyes lost the sharp edge, but a trace of annoyance remained, stroking her own anger, against herself, and against this tall stranger. Drawing attention to her entrance into Bittersweep was the last thing she intended. Admitting anything could be her fault also came at the bottom of her list.
Filled with as much apology as she could muster, she said, “It was my fault. I’m to meet the chairman of the school board and I was looking…”
He interrupted and tipped his hat. “I take it you are Elizabeth Campbell, the new teacher.”
The townsfolk didn’t want any of the Clarke family to return to Bittersweep. So she changed her name to Campbell and returned anyway.
Expelling a pent-up breath, she answered, “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Campbell.”
Stamped with authority, his ruggedly handsome features were guarded by the brim of his Stetson, but she could still see his eyes, compelling and direct. She narrowed her lids against his stance and his penetrating stare. “And you are?”
His expression still questioned, assessed, ever vigilant. “I’m the chairman of the schoolboard, Joseph P. Honeycutt, at your service. Standing in the middle of the road was a fool thing to do, especially for a teacher. Makes you appear careless or touched in the head,” he drawled. “As a first go ’round, you made a bang-up impression on me.”
She edged back a step and gazed at him through her lashes. Honeycutt, why did that name stand out in her memory? After leaving Bittersweep, her papa had never spoken of the town, the folks, her mother, or anything in connection to Bittersweep again and never the name Honeycutt.
In a sweeping glance, she inspected Mr. Honeycutt from his gray Stetson, down his blue shirt complete with a string tie, to his dark trousers above polished boots. Perhaps a rancher by the way he dressed. She didn’t care to be on the wrong side of his good opinion. Although he wasn’t old enough to have been a grown man back then, perhaps he could still answer some of her questions.
She exhaled and relaxed her shoulders. “Mr. Honeycutt, I’m ever so sorry.”
“Well, everyone makes a mistake now and again,” he said. “We’re an informal bunch around here. Most folks call me JP to my face. I hear its Big J behind my back, but between friends, JP will do.”
“If that’s an acceptance of my apology, I thank you.”
“Now that that’s out of the way, I came to collect you.”
She stole a moment to gaze at him again, his strong profile, the firm lips, and piercing eyes. “Collect me?”
His grin widened. “Beg pardon again. I’d best accompany you to Mrs. Ledbetter’s boardinghouse before you assign me to the great, lumbering oaf category.”
“I would greatly appreciate it.”
She had no reason to doubt his word, but the mention of Mrs. Ledbetter’s boardinghouse put her at ease. The knot in her stomach slowly loosened. Only the head of the schoolboard would have that information. She needed to tread carefully here. She didn’t know exactly why she should fear him, but he was a Honeycutt of Bittersweep. Perhaps the very reason she should approach with caution.
“This way,” he directed. “The boardinghouse is at the edge of town. One of your trunks arrived yesterday, and I have it stowed in the buckboard. I’ll come back for the other one when it arrives.”
When he helped her to step up, her foot slipped and she fell backward. He caught her in his arms briefly staring into her eyes before setting her on the seat. “Careful. I imagine that close call still has you a little shaky.”
Heat warmed her skin. Against her will, a sizzle of awareness linked her to him in some strange fashion and left her breathless for a second. “Thank you. I would have fallen flat without your assistance.”
“Always happy to help a lady.” With a low chuckle, he vaulted abroad and took up the reins.
The smell of grain seeped from sacks in the back of the buckboard, familiar, and a disturbing reminder of the past. She surveyed her surroundings, taking note of the dusty road running between the freshly painted mercantile on the corner across from a building she’d never seen before. The gold lettering etched on the plate-glass window, prestigious and showy, announced the presence of the Bittersweep Bank. She approved. The bank’s appearance lent a solid sense of prosperity and well-being to the community. The sheriff’s office seemed larger than she remembered. The Silver Slipper Inn with a tavern separated from the inn by swinging doors, a menu posted on the wall beside the entrance, and a church down the way had all been part of the town for years. Much to her surprise, a barbershop and bathhouse now stood proudly on Main Street along with a few other shops behind glass windows. She surveyed each in turn. The livery stable took a place at the edge of town. The same houses, with a few new dwellings were scattered farther down the way. Tall pines and oaks cast shadows across the road, shading the wagon from the hot, Texas sun.
The buckboard hit a hole in the lane and bounced Elizabeth against Mr. Honeycutt’s shoulder. A shiver of awareness traveled all the way down her spine and she swallowed. She quickly regained her side of the seat. She didn’t relish being aware of his masculinity, of his air of authority, or of his easy grace. After all, he’s a stranger and a Honeycutt.
He turned the horses right at the next tree-lined crossing and in a few minutes drew to a halt in front of a clapboard house reaching three levels. A white picket fence surrounded a yard bare of a single blade of grass or a weed. A lone oak and a sweetgum stood guard at each end of the wide, covered porch.
He jumped down and reached up for her. “I cannot allow any more accidents.”
Elizabeth’s breath hissed out. Any further physical contact was out of the question. “I can manage well enough.” Slightly unbalanced, she reached the first step of the buckboard.
“No need to manage when I’m here to help you,” he stated with a cheeky grin and caught her around the waist. “You still seem a mite unsteady on your feet.”
His muscles bunched under her fingers as he lifted her to the ground. She didn’t want to be aware of his strength, but there was nothing she could do to blunt her response to his nearness.
He caught her elbow and escorted her up on the porch as if she couldn’t mount the steps by herself. “You’ll have a chance to settle in today.”
Curtains at the opened windows along the porch billowed and folded with the gentle breeze while the aroma of cooking apples spiced with cinnamon drifted out. A pleasant voice pushed forward before a mature lady with an apron around her stout middle appeared. “Land sakes JP, you finally made it.”
The woman smiled a welcome and Elizabeth’s nerves settled even more.
“Ah, Mrs. Ledbetter, here’s your new boarder, Elizabeth Campbell. I’ll carry her trunk to her quarters if you’ll point the way.”
“My dear boy, how thoughtful of you. Upstairs, the second door on the right. Course, you always did have proper manners. Even as a boy, you were ever so polite.”
Mrs. Ledbetter leaned toward Elizabeth and a little above a whisper said, “I was the schoolmarm back in the day, and I taught him. Till he went off to one of those hoity-toity schools back East.”
“Now Mrs. Ledbetter, no call to spill all my secrets.” He hefted the heavy trunk over one shoulder with ease
, grasped her valise in the other hand, and headed up the stairs.
“He’s such a dear boy,” Mrs. Ledbetter said in the wake of his heavy tread disappearing to the upper level of the house.
Elizabeth doubted the clouded view Mrs. Ledbetter held of her former pupil applied. Rather than the nice, dear boy she envisioned, he seemed more the powerful, self-assured type, always achieving his goals with undeterred determination.
“Well, dear, it’s glad I am to welcome you. I hope you’ll find everything to your liking.” The landlady made a sweeping gesture toward the front parlor off the hallway and beyond that, the dining room. Every room appeared neat and tidy with a homey atmosphere.
For the first time since she stepped off the train, she relaxed completely and turned her attention back to her landlady. “Thank you, Mrs. Ledbetter. Everything appears most pleasant.”
It seemed only seconds until JP reappeared on the upper level. On the way back down the stairs, he swung around the newel post with one hand as he stepped into the hall. “I’ll be seeing you at the barn dance, Mrs. Ledbetter.”
“I’ll be there. We haven’t had a party in over four months.”
“That’s for certain.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Everyone knows about the party. I’m extending you a personal invitation. It’s a barn dance at my place with barbecue and the like near the end of September. A promise of a regular high-heeled good time.”
She allowed a smile to curve her lips. “I’d love to attend your party. It’ll give me a chance to meet the folks from around here.”
“From far and wide as usual.” He pinned Elizabeth with a lingering stare. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. I’ll show you around the schoolhouse and give you the keys.”
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