She could still hear his voice in her head.
She’s my wife.
It had been a declaration. He was not ashamed, and in that moment, neither was she. She had never been so happy to see Lucius Flynn in all her life. When she needed him most, he did not leave her disappointed. There was the boy she had once known, the boy she had once loved, the boy she had once trusted. He had never left, had never abandoned her as she once believed. He had only gotten lost. Had she not forgiven his waywardness upon Liberty Hill? Had they not renewed their friendship then, however small and fragile it may have been? Heaven knew Lucius had tried to foster it, to make it grow, but Evelyn had done her best to stop him. She realized now how foolish and cold she had been. Lucius was in danger of becoming a good man, and despite her great struggle for independence, Evelyn was in danger of loving him for it.
She remembered very little after the moment their eyes met from the stage. She only knew that her transcendent relief had given way to oblivion, and now, here she was.
But where was Lucius?
The desire to see him was enough to motivate her to rise. There was so much she wanted to know: Why had he come for her? How had he known where she was? What had happened after she lost consciousness? And how had Lucius, a single man, rescued Evelyn from Brock Donnigan, the Duponts, and an entire room full of men who were willing to pay dearly for the corruption of her innocent body?
As Evelyn fumbled around for some decent clothes, Josephine poked her fair head through the entrance of the tent. She had heard Evelyn moving about; for the first time since Lucius had carried her unconscious from the Buck’n Burro, and was eager to see how she fared.
Despite her feebleness, when Evelyn saw the girl she reached out and pulled her into an embrace. Josephine smiled broadly and held her tight. It was good to see Evelyn awake, though she looked frightful, with blanched skin and pale lips. She had dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair was a disaster, hanging in thick tangles over her shoulders and plastered against her forehead, which was damp with sweat. Josephine’s heart burned with pity.
Suddenly, a gunshot cracked through the air outside, startling them.
“Dear God,” Evelyn said, as she released Josephine and pressed two fingers to her throbbing temple. “What is it with these men and their guns?”
Josephine shook her head solemnly, the duel between Lucius and Brock Donnigan still fresh in her mind. She did not know what was happening down at the docks, but she was not certain she wanted to.
She thought of Lucius and Adele, who were there now, and offered up a prayer for their safety.
She produced a canteen of water and presented it to Evelyn to drink. Evelyn’s stomach churned at the thought of consuming anything, but she received the bottle and took a couple of small sips. This seemed to please Josephine, who placed a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder encouragingly.
“I feel awful,” Evelyn told her, though she figured Josephine could see that for herself. “Would you help me dress?”
Josephine looked hesitant. Evelyn needed rest, but since the cannons announced the coming of a new ship, there was no telling how much longer they would even be here. It was probably best that Evelyn be prepared to venture into public at the slightest notice.
Josephine helped Evelyn into a light Panamanian dress, as the day had grown hot early. She combed the tangles from her hair and began to pull it into a single knot when Evelyn stopped her. Evelyn wanted to leave it down for the breeze to catch when she ventured outside, just as she had done when she was a girl.
“I want to step out into the fresh air,” Evelyn said. “Will you help me, Josephine?”
It was stagnant and sweltering inside the tent, and Josephine thought some fresh air would do Evelyn well. She took Evelyn’s hand and helped her to her feet and into the sunlight. Evelyn’s body ached, and every movement was painful. The brightness of the day hurt her head, and she crossed her arms over her belly to ward off another fit of nausea.
Once she had her bearings, she glanced around camp. She saw Samuel seated beneath the palm tree, his back to them as he gazed out to sea, but the others were nowhere to be seen.
“Where are Mr. Flynn and Mrs. Whitfield?” Evelyn asked.
Josephine pointed to the horizon, and as Evelyn’s eyes followed, she gasped at the sight of the Galloway.
“My dear Josephine,” she breathed, “we’re saved.”
* * *
It was done. Lucius Flynn and Evelyn Brennan would sail for California tomorrow at first light.
As he returned to Adele, who had waited for him while he secured his and Evelyn’s passage, Lucius ran his fingers through his hair. He imagined Evelyn, wondering what she was doing in that moment. The sound of the cannons had probably woken her. Had she strength enough to get out of bed? Was she reading, or writing, or taking breakfast? How much did she remember about last night? Did she remember him? Did she know what he had done for her? Had Samuel told her about the duel, about Brock Donnigan, about the ship?
His heart was heavy, his head was heavier, and it hung low with remorse and apprehension as he came alongside Adele and they began the long walk back to camp.
As he thought of what he would say to Evelyn when he saw her, a slew of scenes unfolded in Lucius’ imagination: Evelyn pale as death, Evelyn sick as hell, Evelyn weeping and wailing and ripping out her hair. He walked with his head down, unable to kick up enough courage to even see if she had emerged from her tent.
The fact that he had procured a ship to San Francisco was supposed to be good news.
Lucius had brought her here. Lucius had fallen in love with her. But Lucius was going to put her on a ship. Lucius was going to tear her away from the only friends she had, the people she loved more than anyone else in the world.
Lucius was going to break her heart.
But how? How could he do it?
He never dreamed it would come to this.
Adele Whitfield walked silently beside him. He tried to think of something to say but found no words. Not for her. Not for Evelyn.
They were closing in on the campsite. The knowledge of Evelyn’s nearness slowly advanced upon him, bearing on him like the heat of the day.
“God help me,” he prayed to the stagnant air.
As he spoke, he felt the slightest bit of courage rise within him. Or perhaps it was just curiosity. Whatever it was, it was just enough to compel him to lift his eyes.
He immediately wished he hadn’t, for what he saw sent his stomach reeling.
She was there, standing just outside the tent, arms crossed over her chest.
Waiting.
To be continued in Book Two, Poverty Creek.
Acknowledgements
I had the privilege of sharing Liberty with a select few friends and family in its early stages. Keely Noonan, Amy Memmer, Lindsey Cook, my husband, and my late father, Wolfgang Krismanits, were kind enough to comb Liberty’s pages for any errors prior to publication. Because of them, a good book was given the chance to become great. Thank you, friends, for leaving your fingerprints on Liberty Hill.
A huge thank-you to my cover designer, Aubrey Cavazos, for taking a concept and turning into a gorgeous piece of art. You took my vision and made it better than I could have imagined. Thank you for bearing with Andrew and I and our extensive requests. You rock.
Lastly, the writing and publication of Liberty Hill would not have been possible without my husband, Andrew. Few people possess the grace to truly support the sometimes whimsical and often obsessed artist. His encouragement- before and after the death of my parents- gave me the strength and fortitude to complete this massive project. He has also managed the editing, design, and publication of Liberty Hill, and he is the hands and
brains behind our web presence and marketing efforts. He is, in a word, amazing.
About The Author
Passionate about all things musical, artistic, and literary, Sonja Heisinger has been creating for as long as she can remember. She start
ed her first novel, For He Is Summer, when she was only 14. It took the better part of 9 years to complete and in that time Sonja found a writing voice that was uniquely her own and powerfully clear. She raises the bar again with her second novel, Liberty Hill, the first in a trilogy.
She is particularly fond of classic literature and music, food, travel, and she has an unashamed adoration for country music and romantic tragedies. Her inspirations range from C.S. Lewis and Madeleine L’Engle to Charles Frazier and Philippa Gregory. She enjoys Harry Potter as well as anything by Charles Dickens and Louisa May Alcott. Sonja loves to cook, paint, draw, and pretty much anything involving creativity. Italy is possibly her favorite place in the world.
A native of Northern California, Sonja and her husband, Andrew, volunteered a year in Tanzania, Africa, where they founded Acacia Apparel, a boutique line of authentic purses and scarves made by former and at risk sex slaves. Acacia promotes the prosperity, education, and dignity of young women who have been rescued out of forced prostitution and poverty. It was also in Tanzania that Sonja was able to draw inspiration and write Liberty Hill.
The Heisingers are currently enjoying life in the Texas hill country with their two dogs, India & Morocco.
Find out more about Sonja or contact her directly at www.SonjaHeisinger.com
Find out more about Acacia Apparel at www.AcaciaApparel.com.
Other books by Sonja Heisinger include…
- For He Is Summer -
Set upon the cliffs of California’s northern coast, For He Is Summer begins when seventeen-year-old Kailah Foreman loses her only brother, Daniel, to suicide. In the wake of his death, Kailah meets her father, Nathan, for the first time. To escape the haunting pain of Daniel’s absence, Kailah follows Nathan to his home in Marimount, a small village where deliverance, love and restoration come in the form of sand, surf, and a boy with sun-kissed skin
Authors Note
The year I wrote Liberty Hill was by far the most difficult year of my life.
At the beginning of 2012, my husband Andrew and I moved to Tanzania, Africa. You see, I married an adventurous man with a big heart, and when you share your life with someone, it’s best to let them open your eyes to the world beyond your own. Andrew has taught me that the most difficult things are usually the most rewarding. And so it was with Africa.
We tried to move overseas with as few expectations as possible. The truth is, if you haven’t been to a place, you can’t know it or understand it until you are actually there. But by moving to Africa, we weren’t just physically relocating. We were taking our relationship to a whole new level. We experienced things and learned things about each other that we would have never experienced or learned if we had remained in our hometown in Northern California. And while Tanzania instantly felt like home for Andrew, I spent much of my time there crippled with fear and homesickness. How did I cope? I wrote a book, and much of my culture shock managed to find its way onto the pages. I had spent a year and a half researching the Gold Rush, but suddenly, all I could write about was a tempestuous relationship between a husband and wife and their many mishaps in an exotic country. While my life in Tanzania varied drastically from Lucius’ and Evelyn’s journey through Panama, I cannot deny the strong connections that were forming between myself and my characters. One small example: do you recall Evelyn’s encounter with the monkey who is later christened Winston? That was based on my run-in with a velvet black-faced monkey on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. However, I didn’t mention the giant stork that chased and snapped at me while I frantically tried to get the monkey off my back. And as for the ceaseless emotional drama between Lucius and Evelyn… well, let’s just say that moving to a foreign country tests the strength of a marriage, and if it doesn’t break you, it can very well make you. Andrew and I left Africa in September of 2012 for a much-needed holiday through Italy and France. As for Tanzania, we went, we learned, we stretched, we grew, and we survived. Together. And when I look back now, I feel nothing but tenderness and love for that country. I sincerely value the lessons I learned, as well as the strong relationship I now share with my husband because of our time there. He was right. What was difficult was rewarding. It was worth it. And if I hadn’t known that I was capable of surviving such a drastic change in our lives, I don’t know how I would have made it through what happened next.
A month after we returned to the States, my husband and I went back to California to visit my family. The day after we arrived, my father ended up in the hospital with congestive heart failure. He had to have open heart surgery, so Andrew and I joined my mom in Monterey, California while my father recovered from the operation. Despite the circumstances, the four of us spent a memorable three days together in one of California’s most enchanting landscapes. When Andrew and I flew home to Texas where we currently live, it was with the promise that my father would soon be released to go home for his full recovery, and a few months after that, he would retire after nearly thirty years of being a priest. He and my mother were getting ready for a huge change in their lives, and we were excited for them.
Three days before my mother’s birthday, not a month after our reunion in California, my parents were driving home from my father’s first heart check-up when they were t-boned at an intersection and killed. Suddenly I connected with Liberty Hill in a new, horrifying way: like Evelyn Brennan, I was an orphan. Just like that.
A hundred thousand people have said it before me, but that doesn’t make it any less true: it’s amazing how your whole life can change in just one moment.
My memories of the days after my parents’ death are like crystal snapshots. Time slowed down. I can hear the ticking of a clock, the brush of my bare feet against the carpet as I drifted from one room to another. I can see the dust floating languidly in the air and the way the dashboard just sat there listening, cold, dark, and patient while I really lost it for the first time, while I really cried and told myself this was happening to me. To me. Such a sad, sad story, and it was mine.
Twenty days after leaving California, we returned, and this time my parents weren’t there to pick us up from the airport. I inched through each moment, completely unable to bear the thought of inching through the next. We remembered and buried my parents. We allowed people to hold us and wet our hair with their tears.
A week later, Andrew and I moved into our first house in Texas. Two days after that, I started a new job. Another two days after that, my teenage sister came to live with us for the next three months. There was no more time for mourning, and I had no energy for anything other than breathing. I continued to inch. Moment by moment, task by task. I stopped planning for the future. I stopped dreaming. Liberty Hill sat silent and unopened in my laptop. My father had read it only months before. He loved it. There were few things my father loved more than God, history, and adventure, and Liberty had all three. I’m so glad he got to read it before the end.
Peace has a way of growing in the most unlikely places. In the months following my parents’ accident, I felt myself slowly begin to emerge from a dismal fog; as if my eyes were fluttering and between each bat of my lids I could just make out the distant horizon. And despite everything, I saw light, like the sunrise after a heavy rain. My vision returned, and with it came strength. I wanted to publish Liberty. I wanted to see this thing through to the end, to prove to myself, to my parents, and to the world that life doesn’t just continue; it becomes what we make it while we have it. I won’t let what happened to me and my family rob me of pursuing my dreams. Adventure is for the taking, and come what may, I will take it.
Thanks so much for reading this book. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. On the next page Amazon will ask you to rate and share this book. If you enjoyed this book I would really appreciate a kind review on Amazon and a share via Facebook or Twitter.
Sonja Heisinger
May 2013
San Antonio, Tx
, Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)
Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Page 40