My Heart Belongs in the Shenandoah Valley

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Are you referring to the limestone manor across the meadow?” The captain indicated the northeast corner of the acreage.

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Well, see?” Captain McAlister’s countenance brightened at least two shades. “Good fortune is smiling on us both. I don’t own the manor. If you’ll walk with me, I will show you the property lines.”

  She gave a nod while relief spiraled down inside of her. Haus am Bach remained in their possession.

  The question was, for how long?

  So that’s the situation,” Lily explained while Aunt Hilda pounded a lump of dough into submission. “We’ll have no crops this year.”

  “And what will we eat? Our shoes?” A streak of flour dusted the older woman’s cheek, and Lily gently brushed it away. It seemed like Aunt Hilda had lived here forever, even though she’d moved in only a decade ago, after Uncle Thomas succumbed to his weak heart.

  “Speaking of food,” Lily began, “I’ve invited our new neighbor and his comrade to take supper with us.”

  “You invited strangers?”

  “Not strangers, Aunt Hilda. Our new neighbor.” And a very handsome new neighbor at that.

  A gentle breeze blew in through an opened window and reminded Lily of how the wind had tousled the captain’s ebony curls. The thought of the cleft in his chin and his shadowed jaw had made it difficult to concentrate on the property particulars. And those eyes … so brown they appeared almost black. They seemed to hide a treasure trove of secrets. What girl wouldn’t be tempted to try to unlock them?

  Lily realized her aunt was staring at her with a peculiar expression.

  “Did I mention that the captain has a friend with him? His name is Mr. John Blake.”

  “I believe you did, but I don’t like the sound of this, Lily.” Aunt Hilda resumed kneading the bread dough. “Something’s fishy, and it’s not our supper.”

  “I might agree, Aunt, but what can I do? Captain Albright’s deed looked official, and I don’t believe he’s a swindler. But rest assured, I will think of something.”

  “Well, don’t go marrying Mr. Everett.”

  “Aunt, please!” The very thought brought bile to the back of her throat. “The man is Papa’s age. Papa’s friend.”

  “He has wanted to wed you for some time, Lily. I can see it in his eyes.”

  Lily dropped into the closest chair. “I can’t … won’t!”

  “Good girl.” Aunt Hilda continued with her bread-making. “I don’t trust Silas Everett. I fear your father, my dearly departed brother”—she hurled a reverent gaze upward before returning her attention to Lily—“made a terrible mistake by not making a will.”

  “But I’m sure he did. We simply have to find it.”

  “We’ve looked everywhere.” Aunt Hilda punched the dough. “It doesn’t exist. What’s more, Silas Everett is a tyrant when it comes to business matters. Everyone in Middletown knows it. He’s a cheat and a liar and—”

  “But Papa trusted him.” Lily sighed. “And now so must we.”

  “Your papa was an easy target. He took people at face value, never considering their motives.”

  Lily groaned.

  “Your father also enjoyed the gaming table at the Stony Inn, and he wasn’t much good at gambling. Mr. Everett liked that part the best since he has that sinful den of iniquity called a card room in the back of his establishment.” Aunt Hilda narrowed her gaze. “And where did he get the money to remodel that inn of his, hmm?”

  “Papa’s funds?” Lily squeaked out the reply. Truth to tell, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that Mr. Everett cheated them. More than likely Papa had gambled his money away. “If Papa’s funds are gone and Mr. Everett needed to sell off part of our land, will he also begin to charge us rent?”

  Aunt Hilda lifted sturdy shoulders.

  “How will we pay it now that our orchards and grain fields belong to another?”

  The ripening apples came to mind, a crop they had been readying to pick and harvest, but one they could no longer sell at the market. And Aunt Hilda’s sweet apple treats and equally as tasty pear, cherry, and grape jams; peach cobblers—all gone with a stroke of Mr. Everett’s pen. Bushels of corn and wheat were no longer theirs for the taking, which meant no bread, cakes, or pies. Middletown folks hailed the Laughlin crops as some of the best in the Shenandoah Valley.

  “We’ll be indebted to Mr. Everett,” Aunt Hilda said, “and that’s just the way he likes it. He hopes to force your hand so you’ll have no choice but to marry him.”

  “Never!” Her shoulders sagged. What if the money was truly gone?

  With her elbows on the table, Lily held her head in her hands. “There simply must be some mistake.” She brought her gaze up to meet Aunt Hilda’s. “I, at least, want an explanation. Mr. Everett owes us that much.”

  “He owes us nothing. He holds the purse strings.”

  Before a reply could form on Lily’s tongue, her two brothers burst through the side door. Aunt Hilda muttered something about wayward youths and waved her flour-encrusted rolling pin, but Lily took action. She stood and caught the pair by the collars of their shirts.

  “What on God’s footstool makes you think you can gallop into the house like a team of ill-bred horses?” She gave them a shake. “And just where have you been all day? I needed your help weeding.” What a waste of time that had been. The field no longer belonged to this family.

  “We were in the cornfield, sissy,” said Jed. At twelve years old, he was the spitting image of Papa with his dark locks and stormy-gray eyes. Lily’s heart ached for her father each time she set eyes on her little brother.

  He was also the truth-teller of the two.

  “We got lost in the middle of it and had to figure out how to get out.”

  “We weren’t lost.” Fourteen-year-old Jonah was as fair as Lily and stood nearly as tall, which gave him a false sense of confidence. He wasn’t on the brink of manhood. He was a child. “I knew where we were the entire time.”

  “And I knew you weren’t helping me with the chores.” She tweaked her brothers’ earlobes, causing them to wince. “Now go out to the well and wash up. We’re expecting guests for supper.”

  “Mr. Everett is coming, same as always,” Jonah groused, rubbing his ear. “Why do we gotta wash up for him?”

  “Because our new neighbor and his friend will join us for supper. He is the new owner of the orchards, wheat fields, cornfields, and the barn and property across the creek.”

  “But that’s our land!” Jed looked up at Lily with questions shining in his eyes.

  She shook her head. “Not anymore, I’m afraid.”

  “Did Mr. Everett sell it?” Jonah cocked his head and Lily wished her brother weren’t quite so astute.

  “Yes. But the good news is we have gained a pleasant neighbor and, Jonah, you might be interested to know that he was a sea captain during the war.” Lily dangled the bait.

  Jonah stared at her with wide, eager eyes. He couldn’t get enough of hearing seafaring tales. Even his name evoked images of a tempestuous ocean and desperate sailors.

  “He was a patriot, I hope.”

  “Well, I presume so. He didn’t speak like a Brit.” Truth was, Lily never asked. His friend, Mr. Blake, on the other hand, sounded as though he was British born.

  She guided her brothers out of the kitchen and toward the well room’s pump before taking in their dirt-stained shirts and trousers. “You’ll both need to put on some clean clothes too.”

  Both boys groaned and hung their heads back.

  “Oh, stop your bellyaching.” Lily put her hands on her hips. “You live a hard life, you two, playing in the cornfield all day while I worked until my hands blistered.” She lifted her still-stinging palms as proof.

  When neither of her brothers came back with a retort, Lily returned to the kitchen.

  “You’ve got your hands full with those two, Lily.” Aunt Hilda glanced up from her bread dough. She’d mad
e two fat mounds and set them on the baking stone. “Those boys need to be in school come fall.”

  Thoughts of her brothers’ education—or lack thereof—caused Lily’s heart to ache. Mama had wanted her children to be learned people. Her hope had been that Jonah and Jed would master a skill and become successful tradesmen.

  With a sigh, Lily reclaimed her chair as Aunt Hilda set aside the dough so it could rise before baking. At the fire, she stirred the contents in the black kettle dangling on its hook above the flames. The tantalizing smell of mutton stew made Lily’s mouth water, and she smiled at how dwarfed her aunt seemed by the large oven. It filled an entire wall of the kitchen and stood as high as the ceiling. Every morning it was Jed’s responsibility to sweep out the ashes, but time after time he forgot, until Aunt Hilda reminded him with a whack on his rump with her wooden spoon.

  “I hope you plan to speak with Mrs. Kasper about adding those boys to her classroom come school time.”

  “I do, but the boys don’t want to go. I fear that if I press the issue, they’ll only become more stubborn about it.” She met Aunt Hilda’s reprimanding frown. “The truth is, whenever the boys act up I find myself reconsidering Mr. Everett’s offer of a boarding school.”

  “I might agree if I trusted that man … but I don’t.”

  Lily didn’t question her aunt. They had discussed the matter before and Aunt Hilda still maintained that Mr. Everett was a dishonest snake in the grass. Lily, on the other hand, was grateful that the man saw to their needs.

  “Those boys need a shove in the right direction, Lily. They come and go as they please and terrorize the good citizens of Middletown.”

  Lily wanted to defend them, but last week’s prank was still fresh in her mind. The boys had climbed trees on either side of the pike and, when Mr. Everett’s carriage rolled by, they pelted it with eggs—fresh eggs that could have been enjoyed at the breakfast table. Of course, Mr. Everett was livid and Lily couldn’t blame him.

  “I suggest you begin by speaking with Mrs. Kasper and then go from there.”

  “All right, Aunt. Perhaps I can talk to her on Sunday.” Mrs. Kasper was, after all, the reverend’s wife. “If she’s preoccupied, I’ll walk over to the parsonage next week.”

  Aunt Hilda seemed appeased by the plan, but there was still a lot of time to pass between now and then—which meant more opportunities for Jonah and Jed to get into trouble. And what would the captain and Mr. Blake have to say about the boys?

  Lily closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that her pesky siblings would behave themselves tonight.

  “So you were a patriot during the war, Captain Albright?”

  “Yes.” Mac resisted the urge to squirm beneath the boy’s interrogation. The only reason he suffered it was because he recognized a love and appreciation for the sea burning in the lad’s eyes.

  Except Mac and the sea had parted ways—for good.

  “I began as a privateer,” Mac said. “My father, an Alexandrian merchant, owns a shipping company. My older brother Prescott inherited the business and took to all the bookwork while I desired to see the world.”

  “That’s what I desire too.” The boy’s blue eyes widened. “Did you ever fight the Brits? I’ll bet you won, right?”

  “Fight I did … at first.” Why bother lying to the boy? “But my ship was overtaken and Mr. Blake and I were impressed into the Royal British Navy.”

  The lad’s expression dropped like an anchor.

  Blake sat silently across the room. He looked lost in the depths of his homemade apple cider.

  “Then what happened?” the boy asked, perking up a bit.

  “Then—” Mac’s chest tightened. “I was forced to work on a frigate, a warship designed and christened to kill Americans.” He didn’t add that a majority of Alexandrians felt the nobler thing would have been for Mac to fall on his sword or fling himself overboard.

  Miss Laughlin entered the room. Mac’s mouth went dry as he stood. If he’d been taken by her presence earlier, he was mesmerized now. Her golden hair that had hung past her shoulders in wild abandon only hours earlier had been tamed. Soft ringlets, tied with a headband that matched her gown, now framed her lovely oval face. She smiled and dipped in a curtsy, causing the bodice of her coral-pink gown to give him a hint of what lay beneath all those feminine layers.

  “Welcome to our home.” Miss Laughlin’s gaze fell on her brother. “Jonah, I hope you have not been pestering the captain. He’s our guest tonight.”

  “No, sissy.” He swung a guilty look at Mac, who fought the urge to grin.

  “I see my brother has given you some refreshment while we wait for our supper.”

  “Just like you told me, sissy.”

  She sent him an approving smile.

  Mac held up his shiny silver goblet. “Your brother has been a most gracious host, Miss Laughlin.”

  “And now we’re talking about the war and how—”

  “No talk of war tonight, please.” Miss Laughlin’s features tightened. “We must look to the future and forget the past.”

  “Hear, hear!” Blake raised his goblet.

  The lad’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Perhaps another time, Master Jonah.” Mac winked.

  Jonah brightened. “My sister never wants to talk about war just ’cuz Oliver Ashton got himself killed in it two years ago.”

  “Jonah, I’m sure Mr. Blake and Captain Albright do not wish to hear such a woeful tale. They most likely have their own. Everyone does.” She arched a delicate brow. “Now, no more talk of war.”

  “Yes, sissy.”

  “Forgive my brother, sirs.” Her gaze flitted from Mac to Blake. “He is still a child and lacking in the social graces.”

  Beside him, Mac could almost feel Jonah tense.

  “I’m not a child.” He looked up at Mac. “I’m old enough to hire on to a ship, aren’t I?”

  “Why, certainly,” Blake spouted. “You’d make a fine cabin boy.”

  Jonah beamed with momentary triumph. “See?”

  “Dismiss thoughts of hiring on a ship this minute, young man.” Miss Laughlin pressed her lips together and deep lines appeared on the bridge of her nose. Her gaze slid to Mac. “He’s too young, isn’t he?”

  “Not at all, miss.” Blake seemed oblivious to Miss Laughlin’s trepidation, but Mac couldn’t abide her troubled expression a moment longer. He stared down at Jonah. “But bear in mind that such a position is only offered to boys who know how to take instruction and follow orders.”

  Noticeable relief spread across Miss Laughlin’s face. Then she graced him with a sunny smile that warmed his insides and made him feel as tall as Goliath.

  “The cap’n’s right, Master Jonah. Rebellious cabin boys walk the plank.” Blake closed one eye and scrunched up his face, resembling any number of famously depicted pirates.

  But Blake’s remark, no matter how flippantly intended, brought back a wave of raw regret and images of Mac’s crewmen being forced to jump to their deaths by their British captors. Sometimes Mac still heard their panicked screams in the middle of a sleepless night.

  “Do either of you need a refill of cider?” Miss Laughlin’s question plucked Mac from the deep.

  He glanced into his cup. “Not I. Thank you.”

  “Me neither, miss,” said Blake.

  Mac cast aside his horrid memories and took in the sight of Miss Laughlin. She was a vision, all right. Her flawless complexion reminded him of a ripened peach and sweet cream, and her lips, full, ripe, and pink, made him long for a sampling.

  She cleared her throat and motioned for them to be reseated before lowering herself into a cane-backed chair. “It’s been a hot summer here in the valley.”

  He arched a brow. Hence her bath in the creek this afternoon.

  As if she guessed Mac’s thoughts, a blush worked its way across her cheeks and down her bare, alabaster neck—a neck that begged for kissing.

  “I should tell you that the cider you�
��re enjoying is from our—I mean, your—orchard. My Aunt Hilda makes it. She claims it’s good for the stomach.” Miss Laughlin sent a nervous glance toward the sitting room’s archway. “My aunt will join us shortly.”

  “Can’t say I’ve tasted a better apple cider, miss.” Blake drained his cup.

  “Oh, Aunt Hilda makes the best in the county.” Enthusiasm lightened her tone. “She’ll be pleased to hear you’re enjoying it, Mr. Blake.” She tossed another glance toward the entryway.

  “So it’s been a hot summer, eh?” The scamp in Mac surfaced. He couldn’t resist teasing her, although he did wonder how the heat affected the crops. “Has there been much rain?”

  “Lots of it,” Jonah piped in. “Our swimming hole is deep enough that we can jump in off a tree branch without our backsides touching the bottom.”

  “Yes, I believe your sister showed me your swimming hole.”

  Her pink blush turned scarlet. “But there will be no more swimming, Jonah. Remember, I told you the orchard now belongs to Captain Albright.”

  “Yes, sissy.” The lad hung his head sadly, plucking something deep inside of Mac.

  “I’m sure I can be persuaded to allow you to cross my property to get to the creek.”

  A smile replaced Jonah’s disappointed frown.

  Miss Laughlin’s gaze slid from her brother to Mac. “And speaking of your orchard, Captain …” She sounded eager to change the subject. “You’ll find your harvest in excellent condition, although there have been those who predicted doom last spring.”

  “The world is filled with those who predict doom.” Mac had experienced that firsthand when Alexandria society’s whispers about his participation in the war became roars that were eventually printed in the newspapers.

  “Aunt Hilda!” Miss Laughlin was on her feet in mere moments. She headed to the entryway and took the arm of an older woman.

  Mac stood and motioned for Blake to do the same. Too long at sea had made his good friend lax when it came to manners.

  “Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Blake,” she said before turning to Mac. “And this is our new neighbor, Captain Albright. Sirs, may I present my aunt, Mrs. Brunhilda Gunther.”