Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3)

by Nanette Kinslow

Sam sighed dejectedly. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”

  After several minutes they decided to head back down into town but, as they began to ride away, Buck emerged from the woodland and stopped suddenly.

  “Oh.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “You boys been here long?”

  “Not very,” Samuel smiled. “We were just about to give up on you and head back to town.”

  “I shut the still down for a bit.” Buck shifted his weight from side to side nervously. “Sometimes it’s a good idea to let it cool down for a while. Maybe next week you can come back.”

  Mark watched the man closely. His hands were glistening and it appeared as if his pants were wet to mid-calf.

  “Oh.” Buck saw the concern on Mark’s face. “I slipped into the creek. See? It’s just as well I shut it down for a bit, eh?” He chuckled nervously. “I can’t even walk right,” he laughed.

  Mark nodded and Sam smiled.

  “Well, since we can’t drink, why don’t you come down and have something to eat with us?” Samuel offered.

  Mark looked Buck up and down, certain that he likely never ventured into the restaurants in town.

  “You go ahead.” Buck shuffled his feet. “I’ll come get you as soon as I start her up again, alright?”

  Mark nodded and he and Sam headed back down the trail.

  “Did he seem alright to you?” Mark asked as they rode.

  “Sure. Why?” Samuel questioned.

  “He looked nervous to me,” Mark speculated.

  “He was probably embarrassed that he fell in the creek,” Sam explained.

  Mark nodded silently.

  Chapter Ten

  Roland stepped out of the bank, nodded to Timothy and then mounted his horse. The two men rode slowly through Billington City, nodding at an occasional passerby, and turned onto the road towards the Weintraub ranch.

  When they reached the lane to the property they could see the land spread out beneath them, the auctioneer’s wagon parked alongside the largest barn and a small group of men milling around inspecting the buildings.

  The two men knew the ranch well and they needed no inspection. They took notice of the prospective bidders and waited as a small crowd gathered.

  These were men that Timothy and Roland recognized as local ranchers, men that would likely use the land for grazing and a place to keep their stock. They all had large ranches on the other side of town that were going concerns and it was unlikely they would move their business operations to this location. One had only a few animals that everyone knew were not well kept. Roland did not want to see the ranch go to any of them. Diana had worked the ranch as a thriving business up until the last few years and it was once well kept and had an exemplary reputation. Until she had become obsessed with marrying off Octavia she had been a fine neighbor and a respected businessperson.

  Roland often wondered what had gone through her mind. Her horses were the finest stock and she earned a more than comfortable income for herself and her daughter, even enough to support other members of her family, yet she had compromised it all. She had allowed the ranch to go to ruin while traveling around the world trying to find the right charm teacher, the perfect piano instructor, the most refined speech professor to make her daughter into something she would never be. Both Diana and her daughter were horsewomen and certainly respectable, but Diana had decided to make Octavia into a refined lady. It had cost them everything. Once, when he and Timothy had spoken about it, he saw the sadness in the big man’s eyes and knew that he still faced struggles within himself for forgiveness. Roland had decided then that he would purchase the ranch. There was something there he wanted to do for Timothy, and buying the ranch would be the beginning.

  Once the bidders had gathered at the wagon the auctioneer began reading off the information about the land. He read that the ranch was just under 200 acres, 189 to be exact. He defined the land’s boundaries, three sides being bounded by Elgerson property and one by Vancouver. The bidding commenced once it was determined that there were no questions and concluded when the top bid, that of Roland Vancouver, was made at two thousand dollars.

  Roland completed his deposit to the auctioneer and Timothy shook his hand.

  The new ranch owner looked over the land from the rise on the hill as the men rode out. In the morning the house would be razed and restoration of the barns would begin. Both Roland and Timothy would rest easier with the building gone and Jude Thomas no longer having any rights to the property. Roland could imagine what the land would look like someday, once his plans were completed. He could see a big home where the crumbling house now stood and fine horses in the fields.

  He nodded with satisfaction and the two men headed home.

  “The place is ours,” he announced in the kitchen at home as he hung his hat on the peg by the door.”

  Emma smiled at him with love in her eyes. “It was such a wonderful idea to buy it. Timothy will be so happy. It’s a good thing you’re doing, Roland.” She walked across the room and kissed him lovingly.

  “How did it go?” Rebecca set her knitting on the side table at Stavewood and greeted her husband.

  “It’s Roland’s now.” Timothy stood in front of the roaring fire in the parlor and warmed his hands.

  “Is he going to use it?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he just wants it because it’s close to his place and he wants that house down. After we found out that the man who attacked his wife had been staying out there, I guess he wanted to take it over. I can’t say that I blame him. If he didn’t seem to want it so bad I would have thought about it myself.”

  “Well,” she crossed the room and stood beside him. “I think we have plenty of room right here at Stavewood.”

  “You think so?” He looked down at her and watched the reflection of the fire flickering in her emerald eyes.

  “We have room for you and me, and Mark when he comes home, and Louisa and little Phillip. And I think we could fit in at least one more,” she smiled.

  “One more?” He lifted a brow.

  “Yes, the one that’s coming in August.”

  Timothy pulled her close to him and kissed the top of her head. He could feel her fit against him the way she always seemed to, as if he were only a part of something until she was close to him.

  He looked down into her eyes and kissed her warmly and she slipped her hands around his neck.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mark Elgerson looked out from the porch at the boarding house in Barite, but did not see the unkempt grounds or the picket fence sagging along the road. The day was damp and dull around him, the sky a deep grey with dark clouds blocking out all sun.

  In his mind he could see Stavewood as it would have been just a few days ago. He could see the big table in the formal dining room with its lace tablecloth white and crisp, falling nearly to the floor and gathered on each end with sprays of dried roses. He remembered gathering the flowers in the late summer every year and hanging them to dry in the attic there. There would be massive brass candelabras so filled with candles the room would warm from the flames. He could almost smell the baking plum puffs, the hard squash and the roasted chestnut stuffing that Rebecca would always start so early in the morning.

  The men would have been out earlier and he never knew Timothy to fail to bring down a fat and hearty wild turkey. He would have watched their patterns all year, choosing the best one months ahead of time. Now it would be golden brown, on a massive platter, in the center of the table.

  He could see Loo’s eyes light up and hear little Phillip’s gasp. He could imagine the voices, the joking, the tales, and Timothy losing yet again at charades as they sat on the floor in the parlor watching one another act out the scenes and laughing at the frantic guesses.

  He pulled his lips together tightly and walked towards the telegraph office. He had missed sending a message for the holiday, but he would do it today. All it would say would be “Happy Thanksgiving, Mark.”

  In a
few weeks Sam’s parents would deliver his gifts to his family. He and Sam had made birdhouses, perfect replicas of Stavewood and the Vancouver house, packed carefully in bright boxes. He’d also left toys for the children. “Merry Christmas from Mark.” He had lettered it carefully on every card and left instructions for them to be delivered on Christmas Eve.

  He was not looking forward to missing another holiday.

  “I sent one the other day,” Sam said as they met outside of the telegraph office. The two walked along the street deep in thought. "It was nice that your folks asked mine to Stavewood for dinner. I guess with just the two of them, my folks might have gotten depressed.”

  “Aren’t you?” Mark looked up at his companion frankly. “You never talk about home. Don’t you miss them?”

  “Sure, I miss them sometimes,” Sam admitted. “I miss a lot of stuff. I just don’t think this place is so bad is all. You never talk about your family either,” he continued, a bit defensively.

  “I guess not,” Mark sighed. “I do miss them though.”

  “I saw Buck last week. He said he was setting up the still again. Let’s take a ride up.”

  Mark looked up the street. It was quieter than usual, and a light rain had begun to fall. “Alright,” he said.

  The boys pulled the rope handle that hung on the door and entered the dimly lit shack silently. Cobwebs filled the corners and the fireplace lay cold.

  “Here’s the jug,” Sam found the crock in the corner and swished the liquid inside.

  “I don’t think he’s been using this at all,” Mark observed. “Did he tell you where the new still was?”

  “No, he just said to come up here and he’d leave some for us and find us. He said it would be hard to explain exactly where it was.”

  Mark figured it was just as well. He didn’t care much for Buck and he had no desire to spend any time with Swallow.

  Since the still seemed abandoned and the rain had begun to fall steadily, they decided to remain inside the shack and, as the day slipped into an early darkness, so the boys slipped as well into a drunken stupor.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elliot Catslip emerged from the woodland and listened for voices. He had heard them whispering as they had ridden up the trail and was certain that this was where he could find them. His daughter had been slipping off and he had searched the forest for days, determined to find where she had been going. She’d leave for hours, sometimes even overnight, and he knew she was up to no good. He thought she might be hanging out with the McHerlong clan, but he expected she knew better than that. Everyone knew, especially if you were family, that you never had anything to do with those McHerlongs. Now that he saw the two men return he was certain they were the ones she was meeting. She was not with them now, but he was sure they knew where she was. Maybe they had her tucked away somewhere in another shack. He’d have gone to the law, but they were all tied in with those McHerlongs, he thought. No, he knew his girl was keeping company with these men. They’d had her for a while now, but he’d get her back.

  He planned his confrontation carefully, hiding his weapons in the underbrush and scouting several places where he could conceal himself. He would draw them out and confront them. If they refused to show him where the girl was he knew he could hold his own against either or both of them. They were wearing city clothes, he had seen that. He could take on any man used to city living. Eventually they would talk.

  Mark staggered to his feet in the cabin and leaned against the wall.

  “Where are you going?” Sam sat up blearily.

  “Outside for a minute.” Mark pushed open the door, stepped out of the shack and stumbled towards the woods. Sam stood up, shaking his head, and fumbled in the darkness for the doorway. He leaned there for a moment and heard the blast and felt the impact as a barrel full of rock salt hit him hard in the chest.

  Sam slumped down against the shack grumbling and cursing from the sting of the salt.

  “Where is my girl?” Elliot Catslip called out.

  “What girl? You mean Swallow?” Sam tried to crawl back into the shack.

  Elliot ran from the woodland and stood over Sam, and pointed his shotgun directly at the boy’s chest.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Sam cried, covering his face and cowering on the ground.

  “You have her, I know you do!” the man bellowed.

  Mark circled around the shack and took a deep breath. He jumped from the cover of the woods and sent Elliot sprawling, his weapon firing harmlessly into the night.

  The man leapt to his feet, pulled a pistol and trained it on Mark.

  The younger man kicked his feet in the dirt. Had his mind been clear Mark was certain he could have overtaken the man easily.

  “You boys are going to take me to my daughter, and if you don’t I will put a bullet in both of you.”

  “We haven’t seen her in days,” Mark spat. “The last time we saw her she was with Buck. We don’t know where he is either.”

  “You’re McHerlongs?” the man growled.

  “What?” Mark responded.

  “Get up,” Elliot Catslip commanded and they stumbled to their feet. “You are both coming with me. Until I get my girl back you’re staying where I want you.”

  He retrieved his hidden rifle from alongside the shack and marched them through the woodland, threatening and jabbing them with the barrel, prodding them to cut through the woods.

  The moon rose high and the clouds parted, casting eerie shadows and bright light through the trees. Mark stumbled alongside the stream and his heavy boot slipped into the water. He stumbled to his knees and stopped to catch his breath, trying to formulate a plan to overtake the man. He looked up across the creek and there, under the overhang, he saw her lying completely naked and pale white in the moonlight, partially covered in a thick layer of moss.

  Elliot Catslip ran to her, bellowing loudly and lifted her from the water.

  “You killed her!” he roared. “You animals killed my daughter!”

  “No!” the boys yelled.

  “We didn’t kill her, sir,” Samuel tried to explain.

  Elliot Catslip set his daughter down on the bank of the stream and lifted his rifle slowly.

  “Run, Sam! Split up!” Mark yelled and darted into the woods.

  The first bullet struck Mark and he felt it tear through the flesh along his neck. Instantly his blood ran warm, flowing down to his shoulder. He did not slow his frantic running and tried to put as much distance between himself, the man and Sam as he could. He knew that the girl’s father could not pursue them both.

  Catslip ran to where he knew the bullet had found Mark and squatted down, sliding his fingers through the thick smear of blood in the mud. He chuckled to himself, satisfied that one of his targets had been badly hit and would not get far. He turned to hunt down the other.

  Sam ran towards the tree line and stumbled, falling several times onto the forest floor and wrestling the painful grip of his lingering intoxication. He fought to keep his footing amid the tangled roots and thick underbrush, struggling to stay upright and put distance between himself and his pursuer. At one point he found a hollow tree and crawled inside it briefly, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his head and fighting to quiet his breathing. As if petrified, he held perfectly still, trying to get his bearings. If he could make it back to where they had tied their horses he thought he might be able to escape. Suddenly he was sure he heard footsteps approaching and he was overcome with absolute fear. In his panic he struggled out of his hiding place and tried again to run.

  Just at that moment the clouds parted and the full moon lit the woods brilliantly. Sam’s silhouette against the bright meadow was unmistakable and stood out black against the field. Catslip took careful aim and squeezed the trigger with cold precision. The bullet found Sam’s back and he crumpled to the ground.

  Elliot Catslip walked up guardedly and prodded the man with his boot. When he got no response he pushed harde
r, rolling him over. Sam lay at his feet, desperately gasping for air. Catslip raised his pistol, but, before he could fire, Sam sighed his last breath. His head rolled to one side and his glazed and lifeless eyes reflected the moonlight.

  Catslip spit on the ground beside him. He felt no remorse over killing a McHerlong. In his mind this man had killed his daughter, and likely violated her as well. He spat again and turned to continue his pursuit of the other murderer.

  Mark Elgerson sucked in deep breaths of air and slumped beside a tree on the edge of the clearing. When the moon again appeared he could see that the blood that had run down his arm looked thick and as black as tar. His head swam and he pressed his hand against the wound on his neck. He squinted in the light and thought he could make out a barn in the distance, nestled in the valley floor. He waited, fighting the pain and dizziness, and, when a large cloud covered the full moon, he stumbled down the ravine.

  Elliot Catslip searched the surrounding woodland until he was completely exhausted. His prey had stumbled in and out of the creek and he lost the trail. He returned to the place where his daughter lay, pulled off his soaking shirt and placed it gently over the girl. He sat beside her and hung his head. It would do him no good to go to the local sheriff, he reasoned. His father had always told him that the law was on the side of the McHerlongs. They wouldn’t go looking for the other one. The only thing to do was to handle this himself. He’d wait and he’d find him again. Then he would kill him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The straw was damp and heavy where it was piled against the door and Colleen Muldoon struggled to pull it open. The sun shone bright outside of the barn, but when the girl stepped inside she had to strain to see into the darkness. The barn was largely unused since the newer one had been built, but the loft was dry and secluded and it was there that she would steal away sometimes to read.