The Foster Girls

by Lin Stepp

  WHAT READERS ARE SAYING…

  “Well, I’ve finally come across someone that believes in all the things that I do … love, family, faith, intrigue, mystery, loyalty, romance, and a great love for our beloved Smoky Mountains. Dr. Lin Stepp, I salute you.” —DOLLY PARTON, award-winning country music entertainer

  "This warm-hearted and satisfying novel is like sipping a warm mug of chocolate in front of a mountain fireplace. Lin Stepp paints a charming portrait of the Smokies, their people, and a wonderful way of life. The Foster Girls will make readers eager for more of Lin Stepp's endearing stories. A richly satisfying novel of love, family and friendship." — DEBORAH SMITH

  The Foster Girls

  First Novel in the

  Smoky Mountain Series

  by

  Lin Stepp

  Canterbury House Publishing at Smashwords

  Copyright 2009 by Lin Stepp

  All rights reserved.

  This book is available in print at bookstores nationally.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  AUTHORS NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Although there are numerous elements of historical and geographic accuracy in this and other novels in the Smoky Mountain series, specific environs, place names, and incidents are entirely the product of the author's imagination. In addition, all characters are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, J.L. Stepp – my best friend – and my greatest support in pursuing all my gifts and dreams.

  Chapter 1

  Vivian checked the highway sign again to make sure she was on the right road. A thread of anxiety needled through the back of her mind. Her hands felt clammy on the steering wheel, her head fuzzy. The niggling edge of a panic attack was trying to creep over her.

  “You’re almost there now, Vivian,” she told herself firmly. “You’re okay; you’re just feeling tired. After all, you’ve been on the road for days now. Anyone would be tired and a little shaky at the end of a long trip.”

  She took a few calming, deep breaths and purposefully began studying the scenery outside the car window to refocus her thoughts away from herself. Fumbling in her purse, she found an apple to snack on for an energy boost. All of this seemed to help, and she began to feel a lot steadier as she drove on.

  Vivian checked the time on the car’s dashboard, mentally adjusting the earlier 3:45 Pacific time to 6:45 pm Eastern time in her mind. It had been over a week now since she’d started her journey from the west to the east coast. She’d left Arcata, in Northern California, on Friday, spent two nights in nearby Redding with her foster parents, and then set out for Tennessee. Even with stopovers, the long week of travel over thousands of miles of interstate highways had been utterly exhausting. Vivian had been almost giddy with relief to see her final exit announcing the Smoky Mountains. Now, after passing through what seemed like endless miles of tourist sites and backed-up traffic in the busy resort areas of Sevierville and Pigeon Forge, Vivian was winding her way out a rural highway through the Wear’s Valley.

  Her cell phone rang, startling her. She dug it out of her bag to answer it, relieved to hear a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

  Vivian smiled. “It’s good to hear your voice, Betsy,” she answered, feeling her anxiety lift even more now.

  “I’m sorry to call you on the road, Vivian, but you’ll be pleased to know I’m calling you as a friend and not as your editor at Picardi Press.” Betsy chuckled.

  “Seriously, I’ve been thinking about you and wanted to check up on you.”

  “No need to apologize, Betsy. I’m glad you called. Plus I can’t tell you how glad I am it’s you on the phone this time and not Tad again.”

  A note of irritation touched Vivian’s voice. “Honestly, Betsy. Tad has called me constantly all the way from California to Tennessee. Worrying about me traveling alone. Worrying about whether I got to all the stops he planned for me. Worrying about whether I’ve made the right decision to come here. He’s been worse than an overprotective mother, and he’s started to make me nervous, too. I was actually about to kick into a panic attack coming down the highway just now.

  “Plus, get this,” she added. “Tad programmed the kids’ song ‘It’s A Small World’ on my cell phone as one of his little jokes before I left. I’ve had to listen to that play every time this phone has rung. I can’t wait to change it when I have the time.”

  Betsy’s laughter floated over the phone and helped to further elevate Vivian’s spirits. Betsy had always had such a great laugh.

  “Vivian, we’ve both worked with Tad Wainwright a long time, and we both know he can be a little overly solicitous.”

  “Well, that’s a diplomatic way to put it.” Vivian paused. “Still, you know I’m grateful for all the work Tad did making my travel arrangements.”

  “Are you almost at the rental house now?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes, I think so.” Vivian looked out the car window. “I’m on this little rural highway winding out into the Wear’s Valley now, and my turn to the house shouldn’t be too far down the road. It is lovely here, just like you said, Betsy. It’s incredibly green, and the mountain ranges are much softer and gentler than the ones in California. When I was driving down the freeway and first saw the mountains, I could see six or eight layers of overlapping ranges spanning across the horizon. They were all in hazy layers of blues and purples, each layer growing mistier and softer as they faded off into the distance.”

  Betsy chuckled. “That’s why they’re called the Smoky Mountains, Vivian.”

  “Well, it takes my breath away, even when I’m tired from traveling.”

  “I wish I was there with you, Vivian. My family has spent a holiday or two in that area of the country, and I hope you’ll enjoy your time there as much as I did. Do all the tourist things, but just don’t stay away too long. We’ll miss you.”

  Vivian sighed. “Listen, Betsy, I want to thank you again for working all this out for me. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Tad through this difficult time.”

  “No thanks are necessary. And everything is going to work out wonderfully, Vivian. You’ll see.”

  Vivian had heard this spiel before and very much wanted to believe it.

  “You just keep writing there in Tennessee, Vivian, and we’ll see that you stay hidden away. And for goodness sakes, call Tad when you get to the rental house and tell him you’ve arrived safe and sound. Since you’ve quit answering his phone calls on your cell, he’s started calling me.”

  They both laughed over this.

  Betsy shared some needed messages with Vivian, and on a more serious note before saying goodbye, she asked, “Are you really doing all right, Vivian?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m tired, of course. Even with the stopovers, I’ve been traveling for a week, you know. But I’m wired to finally be here.” She paused to look at a passing road sign.

  “You know, Betsy, I probably need to pull off the road and look at my map. I don’t want to get lost back here on these rural roads after dark.”

  They said final goodbyes and hung up. Vivian pulled over on the side of the road and studied the hand-drawn map her realtor had sent her. She felt a prickle of conscience as she tried to figure out how much further she had to go to find her turn at Stoney Mill R
oad. She knew she should have called the real estate agent as soon as she arrived in town. The woman had promised to bring her out to the house, so she wouldn’t get lost back in the country. But Vivian was a week early and she hated to call anyone on a Friday night at suppertime. Working people were so glad to get off and head for home to relax on Friday - so eager for the break of the weekend. Vivian remembered how that felt with a little wince of discomfort. That kind of nine-to-five working day no longer existed for her.

  With a sense of resolve and independence, she pulled back on the highway. She had a good map. She had found her way all the way across the United States alone. Surely, she could find her way to the rental house where she would be staying for the next year. By then she would know more what she wanted to do - whether she wanted to stay here, move somewhere else, or go back to California again.

  She had a lot of options, a gift she had not had for much of her life. Vivian was thankful for options. Life had surely taught her to count her blessings. But, right now, she just wanted a change. To be more truthful, she critically needed a change, and she needed a place where no one knew her.

  As the day lengthened and the sun began to set behind the mountain, Vivian felt a new apprehension prickling up her spine. Those darkening clouds on the horizon definitely meant a storm was moving in. Had she missed her turn already? She didn’t want to get lost in this valley out in the middle of nowhere at night, especially in the rain. Seeing a little market up ahead, Vivian pulled over, glad to see two older men in overalls sitting on a bench in front of the store.

  “Excuse me,” she asked. “Can you tell me how to get to Stoney Mill Road?”

  One of the older men nodded at her and smiled. “Well, I think that’s down the road about where the Hart Sign Store is, Missy. Hart’s place looks like an old barn, so you’ll recognize it when you come to it. In fact, it used to be an old barn about twenty years or so back. You know, Charles Hart can make ye a real fine sign there for yer garage sale or fer a little business iffen you have one.”

  He looked over to his friend. “Isn’t that where Stoney Mill Road is, Zeke, just past Charles Hart’s place?”

  “Naw, Bill, that’s Lyon Springs, the road over to Metcalf Bottoms. Stoney Mill Road’s more up this way, just after Blackbear Restaurant.”

  “Naw. I think you’re wrong, Zeke.” He scratched his chin and looked down the road thoughtfully. “That’s Piney Ridge Road that’s just after Blackbear’s. It’s the road that runs back in the valley past Drew Miller’s place and then all the way up to the base of Cove Mountain.”

  Vivian listened patiently while the old men argued back and forth.

  “Well, it must not be much further.” She made an effort to sound pleasant but her patience was wearing thin. “At least I haven’t passed it yet from what you’re telling me.”

  “Naw, it’s just on up a ways on yer left. You haven’t passed it yet, Missy. You’ll see the old Millhouse right by the creek at the turn to Stoney Mill. The McFees still make cornmeal in that mill sometimes during tourist season. There’s nothing like real cornmeal ground in an old millhouse.”

  As they started talking about the merits of cornmeal, Vivian jumped on the opportunity to wave and escape. It amazed her how locals could live right near a place and not be able to tell you how to get there with any clarity at all.

  Ten minutes later, she easily found her left turn at Stoney Mill, crossed a broad creek over an old rock bridge, and passed the millhouse just after it. The road, a narrow and twining little two-lane, wove first through pastoral farmland and then back into a shady woods. At the first split in the road, Vivian veered left and soon passed the arched entrance sign for Buckeye Knob Camp she’d been told to look for. The next turn was hers, a looping driveway that led her back to the farmhouse she had chosen to rent, for no better reason than because the picture had appealed to her.

  She pulled her red Explorer to a halt and stopped to stare in delight. The house was even better than the picture had been – a rambling, white two-story farmhouse with quaint angles and deep porches set among a nest of shade trees. Sweeps of March daffodils grew along the side yard and clumps of yellow and purple crocus nestled along the walkway, ending in a colorful cluster beside the house. Many of the shrubs around the porch were in bloom – yellow forsythia, salmon pink japonica, and white bridal wreath. Bulbs peeked from underneath the shrubs and crowded the flowerbeds that decorated the yard.

  An expanse of green yard spread around the farmhouse, and beyond the barn the land rose into woodland and right up the back ridges of the mountainside. Off to the right Vivian could hear a creek burbling behind a row of trees. A peaceful and quiet scene - with not another house in sight.

  Vivian sighed contentedly as she got out of the car. “I’ve come to paradise,” she announced.

  Pulling her purse out of the car, she looked for the key the realtor had sent her. After digging it out, she climbed the steps and started across the porch, weaving her way between worn, wooden rockers and planters spilling over with more flowers. She tried the front door, and it opened easily. Right at her feet inside the door lay a floral hooked rug with the words “Welcome Home” worked into the rug’s nap.

  A slow grin spread across her face as she looked down at the little rug. “Well, well, this is really almost too perfect.”

  As if in agreement, a huge clap of thunder shook the sky, and a streak of lightning crashed down almost beside Vivian’s red Explorer parked in the driveway. Vivian blew out a sharp breath and dashed out to her car to start unloading her luggage before the rains came.

  Just as she dragged the last of her bags and boxes into the house, the sky completely opened up and the rain began to pour down in a torrent. As Vivian shook her wet hair and looked out the window at the darkening sky, another roll of thunder rumbled through the house, even rattling the windowpanes.

  Vivian slammed the front door and peered out the window to see an ominous slash of lightning streak across the dark sky. The deep echo of thunder that followed reverberated through the wood floor beneath her feet. It was scary, and Vivian felt definitely spooked. She’d come here hoping for privacy and solitude, but right now she really wouldn’t mind a little human company at all.

  Wincing at the next bolt of lightning, she gathered her courage and squared her shoulders with resolve. “Time to check this place out.”

  As she started down the farmhouse hall to explore, a strange man cloaked in a dark green rain slicker stalked out of the back of the house directly into her pathway. Wherever had he come from? Vivian’s heart leaped into her throat, and she put a hand up to her chest automatically. The man’s clothes were dripping wet, and he was holding a rifle across his arm.

  Chapter 2

  Scott Jamison had had a long day. He owned and managed Buckeye Knob Camp in Wear’s Valley, and he had been cleaning camp cabins. Spring was here, and he’d soon have his first corporate and group retreats using the grounds and facilities. Plus, visitors would be checking out the camp when they came to the Smokies over the coming months. He needed to start getting everything into shape after the winter.

  He’d ended his workday when the first signs of the storm started and he’d come back up to the director’s house where he lived. Scott had showered and then flopped onto the couch for a rest when the first bolt of lightning hit. It sounded like it almost touched down at his grandma’s old house behind the camp. He looked out the back windows of his log home through the trees to see if everything looked all right over there. He could just see the side of the house through the woods.

  A light was on. He could see it shining through the twilight. Someone was in the house again. Great. Scott sighed.

  This was getting to be a real problem. The area teenagers had learned that the house was sitting vacant, and they had started to sneak into it to party in the last months. Of course, it wasn’t any of the local kids. They all knew him and had known his Grandmother Jamison before she died. The kids breaking in probabl
y lived over toward Sevierville. Who knew how they had heard about the house being empty. But they had. Several times, Scott had phoned the sheriff to come by and deal with them. However, the kids usually got away before the sheriff could catch them and take them in.

  Scott dialed Sheriff Hershel Fields. “Hershel, this is Scott Jamison. I think there are kids over at Gramma Jamison’s place again. I can see light through the trees. How far are you from my place?”

  “Well, you’re in luck, Scott. I’m just up the road at Blackbear having a bite of dinner. The wife Clara’s having some kind of ladies’ shower at the house and I was trying to make myself scarce for a while until it was all done. I can be over in about ten minutes. By the way, glad to hear you’re getting ready to rent that place for a while. That’ll put an end to all this. When are your renters coming in?”

  “Next week some time, I think. It’s some woman professor that wants to get away for a while to take a sabbatical and write a book or something. She’s supposed to call the realty company when she comes in. Mother will probably bring her out since she’s had all the contacts with her from the realty office. Nice staid academic type, she told me. Sounds like a safe bet for Gramma’s place for a while.”

  “Well, I’m paying up with Sheila here at the cash register now, Scott. I’ll see you in just a little bit. Maybe we can catch these kids tonight, so they’ll get the idea that using empty houses around the valley isn’t such a good plan.”

  Scott hung up the phone and went out to the hall closet to get his rain slicker. On the way he took down his .22 rifle from the gun rack.

  The rain started coming down in a fury by the time Scott walked the short path through the woods and crossed the footbridge over Honey Lick Branch. The creek formed a boundary line between the camp property and the Jamison farm that had been his grandparents. Scott skirted around the back of the house to let himself quietly in through the kitchen door with his spare key. He could hear someone hauling stuff into the house and dumping it on the floor just inside the front door. Amazing that kids would even want to be out and getting into trouble on a foul night like this. There was one heck of a storm coming in now.