by Rose Gordon
She shook her head.“No. I’m just afraid.”
“Of your father finding you first?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jessie stared at the setting sun.“Yes.”
“You’re a terrible liar,”Joel said.
“Well, not everyone can be as good at that as you.”
~*~
Joel didn’t know what she’d meant by that statement, nor did he care to ask. Something wasn’t right with her. Something hadn’t been right with her all day. She’d been on edge all day it seemed, and while he didn’t doubt for one moment she was overwhelmed with fear of her father finding them, there was something more to it. Getting her to admit what it was, however…Well, he’d have a better chance winning in a fight against a bear with nothing but his bare hands.
“We’ll be there soon,”he said easily. Just where therewas, he didn’t know any better than she did, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“How do you know if you don’t have a map?”
He lifted his left shoulder in a lopsided shrug.
“Did you at least ask for directions in the last town?”
“No. I don’t need them.”
“Do you get some sort of satisfaction out of being annoying?”
“Not normally, no.”He flashed her a grin.“Just to you.”
“I’d ask why, but I’m afraid of what your answer will be,”she muttered on a sigh.
“How about we strike a deal?”
She pierced him with her green eyes.
“Can I take that to mean your answer is yes?”he asked.
“No, it means I’m listening.”
Joel’s eyes widened.“Since when did you learn that skill?”
“Well, I thought one of us needed to possess it.”
Chuckling, Joel defied his better judgment and reached his arm around her and pulled her close to him.“I’ll tell you a secret that you want to know, if you’ll tell me one about you that I want to know.”
“What do you want to know?”she asked flatly.
“What you’re really afraid of.”
Beside him, she stiffened in an instant.“And what will you tell me?”
An emotion he couldn’t place settled in his chest. He was hoping to be just the slightest bit proud that he’d been right about her being afraid of something else. Instead of elation though, something else filled him. Something foreign that he didn’t want to explore.“How I know we’re headed in the right direction.”He prayed she wouldn’t detect the roughness in his voice.
“How’s that?”
Joel set the reins between his knees then rolled onto his right hip and reached his left hand back around to his back pocket. He withdrew a tattered book and plopped it down on her lap.“These.”
Jessie flipped through the little book that he’d kept stored on a shelf in the stable in case he needed to go on a trip to somewhere he wasn’t familiar with. He’d glanced at it just long enough before bringing out the horses to know he needed to stay straight on King’s Highway until he reached the town of Salter.
“You had a map the whole time.”The irritation in her voice was almost comical. Almost.
“No,”he corrected.“Those are sketches. Not a map. Maps aren’t made on paper. They’re etched into large pieces of—”Joel closed his mouth. Jessie’s death stare had resurfaced.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father left it.”
The words hung between them. For as overbearing and controlling as Jessie’s father was. Joel’s had been just the opposite. He didn’t care what Joel or anyone else did. As long as he had had a flask of whisky in his pocket, he couldn’t care about anything else. Not his wife. Not his son. Not even his farm.
Joel let out a sigh and gave Jessie a light squeeze.“What has you so worried that you’ve been reduced to behaving like a rabid cat all day?”
Jessie’s giggle lifted the dark mood a little.“He might not like me.”
A hot retort was on the tip of Joel’s tongue. He swallowed it along with the bile her whispered words had sent up his throat.“Be yourself, Jessie.”
Jessie mumbled something about that not working on someone else, but before he could ask what, or rather whom she was talking about, she jerked away from him and pointed in front of them.“Is that a town?”
Chapter Four
Williamsburg County
Anna Fitzgerald scanned the dancing platform as dread settled in her chest. Willie Hays, the last decent, unattached fella under the age of thirty in the county, had a smile the size of half a cheese wheel on his face—and it wasn’t directed at her.
“Care ta dance?”came the Scottish brogue of Lachlan Ross.
A shiver ran down Anna’s spine. It’d be extremely rude for her to decline, but she didn’t want to encourage him in any way, either. It wasn’t necessarily that he was older than her father that she found so off-putting—although it certainly didn’t help matters. But what had put shivers down her spine, sent blood thundering through her ears, and her heart pounding in her chest was that he’d survived seven wives. Yes, seven. The last five of whom had died the same way: slipped off the hayloft ladder. Anna wasn’t an expert about such things, but to her it’d seemed he ought to have invested in a new ladder after the first wife fell. But since she, and everyone else in this part of the state, doubted that was really the cause of their deaths, she didn’t say anything.
“Actually, I turned my ankle—”
“Looks like yer standin’on yer ankle just fine to me, lass,”Mr. Ross interrupted. His beefy hand firmly grasped her arm above the elbow as he escorted her to the dance floor. Beneath his heavy footfalls the floorboards creaked and groaned.
Courting and married couples alike had been dancing on these boards since the end of the Civil War. Once the largest and most glorious plantation house in this part of the state, Oakhurst had been torched by the Yankees just before the end of the war. It was said that when Mr. Philips had returned and seen the state of his house, he dropped to his knees and cried a prayer of thanksgiving that his wife and children had been safe in Charlotte during the war and that he’d returned. Then, he gave an echoing Rebel Cry and thanked the Lord he’d no longer have to look upon the hideous furnishings Mrs. Philips had insisted she could not live without—including a wall sized portrait of his in-laws. Once he was done praying, he dug out his harmonica from his knapsack and began to play while his wife and children danced.
And the tradition had continued.
Every Saturday night around sundown Old Man Philips would play his harmonica and people gathered from all over the Williamsburg County to sing and dance and have a good time.
“Yer, a good dancer,”Mr. Ross commented as he stepped on her foot.
Anna inwardly cringed.“Thank you.”
He stomped on her foot again—harder this time.“Perhaps ye could teach me to be more graceful.”
Not a chance.“Oh, I don’t think you need lessons.”
“Ye doona?”
Anna shook her head and kept her eyes trained on the couple behind them.
“Does that mean ye think I’m perfect?”
Now it was Anna’s turn to trod on his toes.“Pardon me,”she rushed to say, noting the way his face had reddened. Surely that couldn’t have hurt. Her shoes had a quarter-inch leather sole for heaven’s sake. His boots were harder than iron. He likely didn’t even feel her foot on his toes.
“No need to beg me for anything, lassie.”He smiled at her in a way that made her stomach clench.
Anna considered reminding him she hadn’t begged him for anything to start with, but decided it was best just to stay quiet.
Old Mr. Philip’s harmonica and his son’s banjo started playing faster, indicating the end of the song was coming, but first the fastest part of the dance. All couples danced into a line position, then linked arms and began stomping to the rhythm. Left, right, cross, back, forward, cross, left, right, cross. Faster
and faster they all moved. Except Mr. Ross. He seemed to be lost for he was only stomping his right foot—directly onto Anna’s!
The repetition of having something akin to a horse’s hoof repeatedly hammering down on the top of her foot took its toll and tears stung her brown eyes. She blinked them away then caught the approving nod Mr. Ross gave her.
He was doing it on purpose!
Anger shot through her veins and without thinking of what might happen to her or any of the other dancers. She pulled her arms from the chain and pushed her way through the crowd. She could hear Mr. Ross’heavy footfalls thunder across the wooden planks and grimaced with each one.
Once off the floor, Anna lifted the hem of her skirt and made for the hitching post. She’d ridden her own horse tonight, claiming she was going to her friend Jessie’s house first and they were going to ride together like they always did. She hadn’t liked being untruthful, but everyone would suspect something if she didn’t. Now she was so very thankful she had lied or else she wouldn’t have her own horse to leave on.
“Where ya goin’, Anna?”Claire, her younger sister asked as Anna began to untie her horse.
Anna spared the girl a glance and flashed her a smile. At only seven years old, Claire was far too young and innocent to truly understand what Anna was fleeing from. Anna reached forward and straightened the ruffles around Claire’s collar.“Home.”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest.“But why?”she asked in such a thick Southern accent that even Anna recognized it as her sister speaking. They were born Yankees, after all.
Anna gripped the reigns and touched her sister on the nose.“Lady business.”
“Ooooh, lady business,”she said in a stage whisper. Claire did her best attempt to wink, but blinked instead.
Anna grinned at her.“You be sure to let Mama know, all right?”
Claire nodded.“But not Papa.”
Actually, for this type of lady business, it’d be better if her papa didknow, but Anna didn’t have time to explain the details or the difference.“Right.”
“Leavin’so early, lass?”Mr. Ross asked, grabbing the reins just above where she’d been holding them.
“Yup,”Claire answered for Anna.“She’s got to attend to some Lady Business, Mr. Ross.”
Ordinarily Anna would have been mortified by her sister’s candid statement, especially since Claire was still too young to fully understand what all lady business entailed. But the horrified and rather disgusted look on Mr. Ross’face made her want to laugh and kiss Claire instead.
“Excuse me, but I must be going now,”Anna said, pulling the reins from his loose grasp.
To some, it might seem silly that Anna left the party entirely. But only to the fools who hadn’t enough sense to know Mr. Ross’pattern. When Anna moved to Williamsburg County last summer her friend Jessie had warned her against Mr. Ross, saying that in the last five years three ladies had received a similar approving nod that she had. All three ladies had found themselves Mrs. Ross by the end of the summer. Her desire to be number four in five years, wife number eight, was only marginally higher than her desire to be branded with iron pokers all over her body. In other words, nonexistent.
Once she was far away enough from the Philips’party, she slowed Sundance, her mare, and pulled her hair from its pins. There was little she enjoyed more than having the wind blow through her black hair as she rode. And tonight, in the warm May air, it felt better than it usually had. Or perhaps that was because she was free of Lachlan. She shivered. With any luck she’d never set her foot near his again—and not just for fear of him stomping on it!
Anna slowed her pace; there wasn’t any reason to rush home since no one would be there yet. In the distance her eyes caught on a house and a lump formed in her throat. Not everyone she knew had gone to the Phillips’. One person in particular who was missing was Anna’s only real friend, Jessie Wilcox.
Having moved to Williamsburg County from New York, Anna and her family had never been formally invited to the Phillips’gathering. Or anywhere else for that matter. They only attended because Papa thought it would help make the local people like her family.
It wasn’t working.
Papa and his brother had fought for the Union side of the war. Uncle Harold and Aunt Rachel moved to the county when the Confederates had lost. Carpetbaggers they were called. Wealthy Yankees who came down and stole the Southerner’s lands. Well, not stole exactly. They did have the legal means to take it due to how poor the South had become and the inability for some once-wealthy plantation owners to be able to pay the taxes on their estates. Her aunt and uncle had purchased Shepherd’s Fall that way. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been blessed with any children so when Uncle Harold died last summer, Aunt Rachel sold out to Pa. Anna had been excited to move away from the city and down to the country. Now she regretted it. It had been more than twenty-five years since the end of the war. But that mattered not to these people. She was still a Yankee and that wouldn’t be soon forgotten.
The only person who didn’t seem to care was Jessie. When they’d first met, Jessie had explained she didn’t have any friends, either, and would be right proud to consider Anna her friend. Anna wasn’t sure how to feel about that at first, but soon realized how genuine—and perhaps unbelievably blunt—Jessie could be.
Anna sighed. Jessie had to have the best luck of anyone Anna knew.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t true, but Anna would need a lot of convincing to believe that Jessie’s previously miserable life hadn’t recently been vaulted into perfect.
Anna directed Sundance toward her house, a miserable, sad ache at the loss of her friend filling her chest.
The middle of last summer, Jessie had approached Anna for a favor…
July 1890
“I cannot take it another moment,”Jessie said, flopping down on Anna’s bed.
“Take what?”
“My existence.”
Panic seized Anna.“You’re not…Jessie, you’re not…”
“Thinking of running away? Absolutely.”
Relief flooded Anna. Her father would die—or kill her—if Anna were to ever tell anyone, but when she was younger there were some days her pa was in such a mood, tormented by war memories, that her mother feared he might do something foolish and take his own life. She immediately shook off the thought.“All right. Where are you running to?”
“Lawrence, Massachusetts,”Jessie said without reservation.“My cousins Patience and Mercy live there and work at a factory.”
“They do?”
Jessie bit her lip.“Well, I think they still do. I’m really not sure.”Her green eyes lit.“But I hope they still do.”
“All right…”
“See, when we were younger, Mama insisted I exchange letters with Patience and Mercy. I think she was just trying to find more female pursuits for me. Something about how girls should be penning letters and braiding hair not climbing trees and chasing wild animals.”Her lips contorted sourly.“Anyway, they were both always very diligent in their letters. Unfortunately, I was not,”she added with a sigh.“But, I do remember in one of her last letters Patience told me she was going to Lawrence to work at a factory.”
“And you want to go live with her and commit yourself to slave labor for the rest of your days,”Anna surmised dryly.
Jessie sat up, throwing her legs over the side of Anna’s bed.“Hmmm, let’s see.”She held out her right hand, palm up.“Slave labor.”She held out her left.“Living with Satan…er…I mean my father.”Rolling her eyes up to look at the ceiling, she moved one hand up and the other down then alternated a few times. Her hands moved up and down like the scale in Mr. Murdoch’s store, finally settling with her right hand up.“Yup, I think slave labor wins.”
Grinning, Anna shook her head.“Well, at least you’ll be paid.”
“And living on my own. I swear the man has become the devil himself since Mama died,”she said with a shiver.
The thought of losing he
r friend didn’t sound too appealing to Anna, but neither did making her friend suffer.“So…what do you need me for?”
“I don’t want my father to know, so may I use your address?”
“Oh.”There was no harm in allowing Jessie to use her address and name on the outside of the letter to send correspondence, was there? If there was, she couldn’t see it.“All right.”
“Oh, thank you!”Jessie jumped up off the bed, and pulled a piece of paper out of her bodice!“Here. It’s addressed and ready.”She reached into her purse and withdrew a coin.“For postage.”
With a laugh, Anna took the letter and money from her friend.
If she knew then what was in store for them, she wouldn’t have been laughing.
Two weeks later brought a letter from Patience.
Jessie responded immediately.
So did Patience.
Then, after two months, two letters sent and received, and a whole head full of dreams, everything disintegrated. Literally.
Dear Jessie,
I pray that this reaches you in time. We had so hoped you would come to live near us but a tragedy has occurred. Brown’s Textile Mill has burned to the ground and Mr. Brown has no plans to rebuild. This leaves a hundred of us out of work!
I know we promised to help you find lodging, roommates, and a job, but that is no longer possible. You know you’re always welcome to stay with us, but there simply are not enough jobs because of all the women who’ve lost their position at the factory. Knowing how you long to leave home, I’m sorry to disappoint you like this. Roberta McDaniel, our former manager, has urged us to contact Elizabeth Miller, a matchmaker in Beckham, Massachusetts, to find a groom out West where women are scarce. That certainly isn’t true in Lawrence, where even the most odious men are being pursued by hopeful women. Not Mercy or me, I assure you. I’d rather die an old maid—and likely shall, for I know of no single man I’d consider marrying.
Mercy and I hope to find work here in Lawrence so we can remain with our family. Although, our success at finding a suitable position has been less than satisfactory, we’ve no plans to consult a matchmaker. However, who knows what the future will bring?