The carriage halted, and with a few groans the driver labored down from his bench. Before he had made it to the door handle, Ashlyn already turned it and pushed it outward.
“Here we are, folks,” the gray-haired man said with more formality than cheer. “Whittington Farms.”
“Are you familiar with this area?” Ashlyn received the man’s wrinkled hand and stepped down. She straightened her dress, a simple green cotton she chose for the comfort of the ride.
“A neighborhood or two away.” He pointed in a direction southward. “Close enough certainly to know of Ryland Whittington.”
“I didn’t realize you knew of my father.” Ashlyn’s voice was already changing, as if the air itself was bringing back her sweet drawl that had faded in California.
The man climbed up the side ladder of the carriage and unstrapped the belts tying down their few items of luggage. “He was a hardworking man, Ryland was. Did well enough on this farm, he did. Although your daddy never kept it any secret he would rather be hunting for gold.”
“That was Daddy.” Ashlyn stood up on her toes and drank in the view of the fields and the mountains as if it were a cool glass of water. She put her hands on Seamus’s cheeks and kissed him.
“What happened to him, if I may ask?” The driver threw two of the straps down below, and then tugged on the larger case.
“Let me help with that.” Seamus reached up and braced himself to receive them as they were handed down. They didn’t have much, but the cases were heavy.
“My mama passed.” Ashlyn began in a way that Seamus could tell she was measuring her words. As far as Grace knew, Seamus was her father, and this would be no time to explain to a stranger that Ashlyn left her hometown pregnant. “When she did, my father had nothing restraining him from the golden hills of San Francisco.”
The driver stepped down and placed his hands in the small of his back and moaned. He looked to both Ashlyn and Seamus expectantly. “Not to be too particular, as this is a small town and we’ve got too much time not to meddle in others’ affairs. So . . . what about the rumors? Were they true?”
“Pardon me?” Seamus couldn’t believe the man had posed such a question. Ashlyn had believed the scandal of Grace’s illegitimacy had been kept a secret.
The man stepped back, seemingly surprised by Seamus’s sudden shift in demeanor. “The gold? Did he find his gold?”
“Oh.” Ashlyn let out a deep sigh. “Yes. He did quite well.”
Seamus pulled his billfold out from his jacket. “Which unfortunately for both us and you, never made it in our hands.” He thumbed through the dollars and counted out the amount owed. How much would that leave them? It seemed like a fair amount of money, but this would have to last them through the rest of winter and be enough to start a harvest.
The driver flashed an expression of professional disappointment and then took the bills and put them in his breast pocket. He tipped his hat and, with a few more complaints about some unknown pains in his body, was soon pulling away and his carriage became a shadow in the fading sunlight.
“Where’s the barn?” Grace’s eyes scanned the grounds.
Ashlyn gave him a “look what you’ve started” glance, and Seamus smiled and put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “I told you we’d get you a horse. I didn’t say anything about giving your horse a house.”
Seamus suddenly laughed.
Ashlyn leaned into him. “What are you laughing about?”
“Tell us.” Grace put her head on his other shoulder.
Should he share the memory that flashed before him? “Well . . . you know when I was living in the mountains of Colorado? And I first came across the stagecoach that was carrying mail and had crashed and—”
“Yes, Da.” Grace rolled her eyes. “And you found Ma’s photograph, the one you always carry in your pocket.”
He gave her a playful squeeze. “And the horse—”
“The one you stole.”
“Maybe you should tell the story, dear.”
“Go ahead. We’re listening.”
“Well . . . that night.” Seamus bit his lip. He was surprised this was making him emotional. “Your father was so lonely without the two of you in my life. I was going to have the horse stay in my cabin with me.”
Grace leaned back. “That’s weird. Some stories you just shouldn’t just tell.”
“The point is, young lady, that I love you two very much.” The words coming to him were surprising because they were ones he hadn’t used in a while. “And I believe we’re exactly where God wants us to be. A new start. With my favorite people in the world. And me . . . Seamus Hanley. A farmer!”
“I love you.” Ashlyn kissed him on the cheek. “Even when you’re lying to me.”
This moment was one of the first times they had been alone together for quite some time. Holding each other close was not only intimate, but it fought off the rising chill of the cool air.
Suddenly he noticed something strange, and his pulse spiked. “Ashlyn?”
“Yes, love?”
“I thought you said this farm was abandoned.”
“Yes. It is.”
Both Ashlyn and Grace followed his gaze and now all three were staring at what alarmed him. The breeze abruptly shifted toward them, the smell clearly evident.
Smoke rose from the chimney.
Chapter 5
The Owners
Seamus’s protective instincts came to life and he stepped in front of his wife and daughter.
“Seamus?” Ashlyn’s voice shook.
“You did say there was no one living here?”
“There hasn’t been . . . for . . . my uncle died a year ago.” Her auburn brows narrowed.
“Either the house is on fire . . . or someone is inside.” This whole trip could not be yet another one in his long line of mistakes. “And this is the right house?”
Ashlyn dipped her head and crossed her arms.
He held his palms up and shrugged. “It’s just a wee bit strange.” Seamus could see the concern rising in Grace’s expression, who had moved close to her mother. “It will be nothing. You’ll see. There is certainly a simple explanation.” There must be an explanation! Please, Lord, don’t have this go wrong. He moved toward the entranceway.
“Seamus, please be careful.”
He stepped up to the front window and peered inside. There was furniture in place, but no sign of anyone moving about. And there was a definite flicker of light coming from an adjacent room.
He looked back to Ashlyn and shrugged. Seamus came to the large black door and rapped the bronze clapper. Rather than being rusted or worn, it was shined to a bright polish.
Nothing. He knocked again. Seamus tested the handle and it freely opened, the door ajar.
“Should you really enter?” Ashlyn crept forward with Grace at her hip. “Maybe we should just go.”
“Where? We’ll freeze out here.” He didn’t wait for a response. Seamus stepped inside. Almost immediately, he thought he saw a shadow flash by at the other end of the hallway.
“Hello? Who goes there? I’ve seen you. Will you please speak up?”
The home wasn’t imposing from the outside, but it appeared rather spacious for a country home now that he was standing on the creaking oak floorboard. A winding staircase led up to a second floor, which was too dark to see clearly. The hallway led in both directions, but it was from the left where the light was flickering against the walls.
In front of him was an empty coatrack, with a wooden cane leaning beside it. Seamus lifted the cane and tested it in his hand for balance. It was too light to serve much as a weapon, but it gave him some comfort to grip it.
Although he had been a minister for several years now, it was his experience from serving in the Mexican War that now pulsed through his veins. And with m
emories recalled of real terror he had endured, he was able to calm his nerves and move forward.
“Please come out. Whoever you are. There must be a misunderstanding of some sort. My wife is a Whittington, and we have come to reclaim our home.”
With cautious steps, he approached the flashing of light in the adjoining room, and as he passed the entranceway, he saw it was well appointed with an elegantly styled couch and cushioned chairs. On the walls were carefully hung paintings, and one of the portraits was of Ashlyn’s father, Ryland, and what must have been her mother, Hazel. Her parents appeared young and vibrant, and he was struck in particular by the posture and poise of Mrs. Whittington, who stared at him with Ashlyn’s brown eyes.
Would she have approved of Seamus? What an odd thought to have in such a moment.
There in the center of the room was the stone hearth where some freshly placed logs crackled with greenness and appealing warmth.
Seamus heard a sound.
A woman whispering.
Stepping out from the darkness of the room was a black face, barely discernible in the diminished light. It was hardened, scarred, with a gray-stubbled face and tight curls. The eyes glaring through the shadows were proud but worn as well.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The voice was graveled, but there was a softness to it that seemed ill-suited to such a mask. “We ain’t been expecting no one. Nobody done tell us there were more Whittingtons.”
“Come.” Seamus beckoned with his curled fingers. “Step into the light so I can see you plainly.”
The man did as he was told, wearing jeans, a white cotton shirt, and suspenders. He lowered his head as if he had learned not to look anybody straight in the eyes. At this point, Seamus realized there was another set of brown eyes behind him, these also subdued with weariness. It was a woman whose weathered skin and silvered hair appeared to make her equal in age to the man. And there was a familiarity to her appearance as well.
“It’s all right, Seamus.” He was surprised to see Ashlyn had come in the house behind him and his anger rose, until she laid her hand on his shoulder. “I know them.” Her tone shifted from caution to surprise. “Mavis?”
“Miss . . . Ashlyn?” The woman stepped forward and a curious smile lit up her expression, but then she halted and looked up to Seamus with fear.
He followed her gaze and realized he was holding the cane up, still poised to strike. “I’m sorry.” Seamus lowered the cane and laid it against the mantelpiece. “It’s all right. Come on out.”
Mavis relaxed her shoulders, and her smile returned. She reached a slender ebony hand up to Ashlyn’s cheek. “Why . . . you was just a girl.”
Ashlyn leaned forward and gave the woman a firm embrace. Then she spun, wiping a tear from her eye. “Seamus. Gracie. This is Mavis. She is Annie’s sister.”
Of course! She looked just like Annie, the faithful woman who had accompanied Ashlyn and her father on their journey to San Francisco. Annie had become Ashlyn’s best friend. She was one of the only ones trusted to keep Ashlyn’s secret.
“I didn’t know Annie had a sister.” Seamus held out his hand to the woman, but she was still looking to Ashlyn for an answer to a question.
“Is she?” Hope lit in Mavis’s eyes.
Ashlyn shook her head, her eyebrows raising with compassion. “Annie passed away two years ago.”
Mavis looked away. “Oh. I feared I never seen her again when I first say my good-byes.”
“She was like an aunt to me.” Ashlyn put her hand on the shoulder of the woman’s brown dress.
“She sure doted on you a might bit. Annie loved the baby Ashlyn. And your sweet mama too. Just as I did.” She looked past Ashlyn. “And who might this be?”
Grace had made her way to join them. Seamus nodded to her that it was okay.
Mavis stared at Ashlyn. She was about to speak but seemed to catch herself.
Ashlyn just nodded and gave Seamus an uncomfortable look.
Of course, Annie would have told her sister Mavis about the reason for Ashlyn having to leave for San Francisco. How many others would know of his wife’s shame? Would he be able to shield his daughter from these impending whispers?
The worst was yet to come. There would be no avoiding their past. In response to this revelation, he put his arm around Grace and pulled her toward him. Oh! What he wouldn’t do to allow his precious girl to avoid all of the struggles he had to face in his life.
“You are Annie’s sister?” Grace looked up with awe as if she was getting another chance to gaze upon the woman who raised her as a second mother.
Ashlyn still appeared uneasy about the subject. “Gracie was very close to Annie. She took her passing quite hard.”
“I’s surprised about it, that’s all.” Mavis’s lips trembled, and she slipped her teeth over them. “I wouldn’t never thought she’d go before me. Annie was the strong one. Since we’s both girls. How?”
“Her heart.” Ashlyn glanced toward the fire. “She liked to play the role of this tough lady, but as you know, her heart was her softest part.”
“That’s a true thing there. Hmmm.”
Seamus held out his hand to the man whose shoulders and glare remained stiff. “I’m Seamus. Seamus Hanley.”
He seemed uncomfortable shaking Seamus’s hand but did so limply. “Name’s Tatum. We’s don’t mean no harm any in being here. We ain’t looking for no trouble. We can just be on our way. Besides. We’ve been giving Master Fletch his due. Just as he say.”
“His due? Master Fletch? I . . . don’t . . . understand.” Seamus turned to his wife.
“Are you talking about Virgil Fletcher?” Ashlyn spoke with surprising contempt.
“That be the one,” Tatum said. He then looked beyond Seamus and his eyes widened. “That, in fact, be Master Fletch coming now.”
Chapter 6
Fletch
Seamus followed Tatum’s finger toward a window with view of the front pathway leading to the house. Although there was little lighting inside, there was enough remaining of the dusk to clearly show a wagon pulled by a large horse, which appeared to be laboring under its load.
In the driver’s seat sat a burly man hunched over the reins wearing a plug hat. Next to him was a woman in a large hoop dress who, in contrast to the man, was sitting erect. The rear of the wagon was covered with canvas, and barely noticeable, a young man sat on the edge of the rear gate.
“Whoah.” The voice came from outside and was deep and bellowing. The man cranked the brake and lurched his way down, then waddled around to other side where the woman awaited his hand.
Seamus stabbed a glance at his wife.
Ashlyn waved her hand dismissively. “They are harmless enough. Unless one can be mortally wounded by idle prattle.” She headed to the front door before he could protest and Seamus had to skip to keep pace.
She pushed through the door and spat out in her newly recalled Southern tone, “Could this be the one and only Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Fletcher?”
They halted as they were approaching on the walkway. “Well, hello there, little lady,” the man said in a voice that sounded like laughter. Even in the diminished light, his striking features stood out. He had a large head, almost crookedly placed on his neck, with a bulbous nose and one eye that seemed clouded. “We was a figuring it was you.”
“Well . . . I’ll be.” The woman waved a handkerchief in her hand like a flag. She appeared much younger than the man, and it was now clear it wasn’t just the dress that was wide, as her cheeks were broad as if filled with acorns. “Why if it isn’t our little Shenandoah Rose, Miss Ashlyn Whittington. That might just be the most beautiful sight these tired eyes have seen.”
“Hello, ma’am.”
“Don’t you ma’am me, little Rose, as you are a grown woman now. I am Coralee henceforth.” She held out her gloved hands and pulled Ash
lyn’s toward hers and then eyed her up and down. “And you have grown well I see. How long has it been?”
Before the question could be answered, Coralee extended a freed hand toward Seamus. “And who might this be?” She winked at Ashlyn and pursed her lips.
“This wonderful man is my husband, Seamus.” Ashlyn waved for her daughter to approach. “And this shy lady is Grace.”
“I am not shy.” Grace wrinkled her brow and shot an embarrassed look toward the young man standing in the background with his hands in his back pockets.
Coralee had not taken her eyes off of Seamus. “Well, I’ll say you have done well with this one, Ashlyn child. And I always thought you would be married to Percy all these years, but I can see now why you spurned that unpleasant boy and better spent your affections on this gentleman.”
The name Percy made Seamus cringe and his wife stiffened as well.
Ashlyn cleared her throat and straightened. “My husband is handsome indeed.”
These words brought Seamus to his youth, back when he captured the gaze of most women, with his tall, fit frame, his black wavy hair, and his Hanley blue eyes. Having spent so many years wearing a collar it seemed odd to be spoken of in this way.
Ashlyn continued. With her melodic, swaying voice, it was as if she had become a different woman. Yet it appealed to him because she sounded happy, something he had missed. “My dear husband is a preacher, a man of God.”
“Ohhh.” Coralee gave a slow nod of approval.
Seamus shifted his foot. Why did Ashlyn say that? Weren’t they here to start anew?
“And a man of God to boot.” Coralee paused. “I think this makes a man even more striking. Don’t you, Anders?”
The boy pulled out his hands from his pockets and tucked them under his red suspenders. “Yes, Ma.” He appeared to be in his late teens and had a nest of dark hair, which seemed more untended than curly. Although almost as tall as his father, he was fortunate enough to share few other features.
Ashlyn put her arm around her daughter, who received it stiffly. “Gracie, this is Taylorsville’s pride and joy, Mrs. Coralee Fletcher. If there is anything, and I do mean anything, you need to know about anyone, our Mrs. Fletcher will have your answer.”
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