Impending Love and Madness

by Laura Freeman

  “What is that?”

  “You put the idea in his head. I’ll cultivate it to fruition.”

  He drove into town and then north on Main Street to Glen Knolls, the home of Tyler and Cory Montgomery.

  Tyler had bought the home five years ago. The yellow house had faux pillars and a portico above the entrance, typical for homes in the area.

  Zach stopped the carriage in the back yard near the barn. Two boys were chasing chickens in the yard.

  “Aunt Cassie!”

  Sterling Montgomery had been named after his maternal grandfather, but he resembled his father with dark hair and pale blue eyes. His companion was Jefferson Vandal who had hair the color of wheat and dark brown eyes.

  The boys had been born in 1861, the first year of the war. Jefferson’s mother, Regina, had died two years ago along with her infant daughter and were buried on their farm, the Silver Pheasant, in Vandalia, West Virginia.

  Tyler had been raised in Vandalia. Regina had entrusted him to find her husband, Edward Vandal, but the man had disappeared like many of his fellow Confederate soldiers.

  Cass had shared the story with Zach. “Does Jefferson remember his father?”

  “I don’t see how,” Cass said. “He was too young. Cory and Tyler explained how his father fought in the war and nobody knows what happened.”

  “So many men were buried where they fell,” Zach said.

  The boys stopped chasing the chickens and joined Zach and Cass. “Who is this, Aunt Cassie?”

  “I’ve forgotten my manners,” Cass said with a slight smile. “This is Sergeant Zach Ravenswood.” She turned to Zach. “This is Mister Sterling Montgomery and Mister Jefferson Vandal, two fine gentlemen of Summit County.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zach extended his hand.

  “Where’s your gun?” Jefferson asked.

  “Don’t you know? The war is over.”

  Cass steered the conversation away from war. “Are you enjoying the summer, boys?”

  “We sho’ are,” Jefferson said. “I caught a fish.”

  “Papa took us to the fishin’ pond,” Sterling added. “He put the worms on for us.”

  Jefferson made a face. “Yuck.”

  Tyler headed toward them but was attacked by the boys with stories of their day. He was a big man who had worked as a blacksmith when he was home summers from boarding school, adding muscle that disguised the fact he had attended Harvard and was a lawyer.

  Cory followed, smoothing loose strands into a chignon at the base of her neck. The eldest of the Beecher sisters, Cory had dark hair like Cass but with red highlights. She had been the leader of the siblings, but after her marriage, each sister had left home to seek an adventure and a husband.

  Was Washington City her adventure, or was there something more in her future? Cass asked Zach to remove the box she had packed. “Papa mixed some bath mixtures to ease the itching for Olivia. How is she doing?”

  “I had to put mittens on her so she doesn’t scratch. I don’t want her to have scars like these two rascals.” Cory ran her fingers through Sterling’s dark curls and Jefferson’s straight locks.

  “I only scratched a little,” Sterling said.

  Cass examined the boys. “I don’t see any scars.”

  “None on the face,” Cory said.

  “Boys can’t be too pretty,” Tyler said.

  “They can earn their scars when they’re grown men,” Cory said.

  “Do you have any battle scars?” Jefferson asked Zach.

  “Afraid not,” Zach said. “The first thing I learned was to duck. But I broke my leg when a sharpshooter took out…”

  “I picked up your mail.” Cass scowled at Zach. “No talk of killing. They’re four years old,” she whispered before retrieving letters from atop the box of medicine.

  “Sorry.” He carried the box.

  Tyler frowned and tore open a letter. “It’s an old friend I wrote to about Edward Vandal. He was home the winter of ’62, but no one has seen or heard from him since. I sent a letter to Vandalia. I figured if he was alive, he’d return home, but no news from the Dunking Witch.”

  Cory gasped. “The Dunking Witch? I thought you sold it.”

  “I did. I wrote the new owner.” Tyler escorted Cory to the house as the others followed. “I figured he would inform me if Edward showed up in town.”

  The Dunking Witch was more than a saloon. As family, Cass was privy to Tyler’s past. His late mother, Olivia, had owned the Dunking Witch when it had been a whorehouse. Edward Vandal had discovered the secret and shared it with everyone in town. There was no love lost between the two men, and yet Regina Vandal had chosen Tyler to be guardian to Jefferson before she died.

  The two boys marched across the yard, arm in arm. No one would guess their fathers had hated each other.

  “You should stop looking,” Cory said. “Jefferson is part of the family now.”

  “I’m fond of the boy,” Tyler said. “But as a lawyer, I need to do my due diligence. I wouldn’t want Edward to accuse me of kidnapping his son.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Cory said. “Esther brought him to us.”

  “Esther was his slave,” Tyler said. “I’ll keep trying to find him until I’ve exhausted all my leads.”

  “And if he’s dead?”

  “Then we’ll adopt Jefferson.” Tyler held the door as everyone entered the kitchen at the back of the house.

  “And if he’s not dead?” Cory whispered.

  “Then Edward will need to prove he’s a decent father, or I’ll fight him in court for custody,” Tyler said. “Reggie entrusted me with her son’s care. I won’t turn him over to a man I don’t trust to care for him properly.”

  Tyler had beat Edward in court once. He could do it again, if necessary.

  The sick room was off the kitchen. Olivia, named for her grandmother, was sleeping in the single bed. She had mittens on her hands and a quilt covering her small body. The poor child had to be hot. It was July.

  “Quiet, boys,” Cory warned as they sat at the kitchen table. She served them biscuits and raw vegetables from the garden.

  “No need. She’s awake.” Tyler stood in the doorway of the sick room. “How are you feeling, Liv?”

  Olivia chattered in a ramble of words, some real and some only a two-year-old understood.

  Cory examined a muslin sack tied with twine in the medical box Zach had placed on the table. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Papa said to put it in her bath. It’ll soothe her skin.” Cass looked for a bucket. “I’ll fetch the water.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Once the boys had eaten and been dismissed outside, Tyler led Zach into the adjoining dining room. “Let’s talk in my office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t have to address me as sir.” Tyler led the way across the hallway that ran from the front of the house to the rear to encourage the flow of any breeze. He opened the door to his office. A large desk was the centerpiece with a shelf filled with books behind him and a side table near the window. He pointed to a leather seat, and Zach sat. “I didn’t serve in the war, Zach. I had my reasons, but I admire you for doing your duty.”

  “I wanted to follow Pax’s example. I had no family. My grandfather barely acknowledged me. Seymour was to be administer of the estate until I turned twenty-five.”

  “I visited your grandfather on your behalf after your furlough in 1864. He contacted me shortly after,” Tyler said. “Do you know why?”

  “He wrote he had changed his will,” Zach said. “Fighting in the war convinced him I was mature enough to run Ravenswood on my own. I don’t plan to disappoint him.”

  “He spoke proudly of you,” Tyler said.

  “We made amends. I was happy for that. When he wrote about training me to run Ravenswood, I looked forward to returning to help him. His death came as a shock. I feel a bit overwhelmed now.”

  Tyler handed him an envelope. �
��This is a copy of the will. It makes you sole owner of Ravenswood. He provided for the employees and Seymour.”

  “Has Seymour seen the will?”

  “I wrote him a letter and confirmed the court executed the will after your grandfather had died,” Tyler said. “I was expecting Seymour to contact me.”

  “Did he know about the will?”

  “I made no secret of the reasons for my visits last year. But he may not have known the contents,” Tyler said. “I don’t know what was in the previous will. Elijah burned it.”

  “Why?”

  “So there would be no confusion as to his wishes.”

  “I’m his only heir. I don’t see how there could be any confusion.” Seymour had been mentioned in the will. “What did Seymour receive?”

  “It guarantees Seymour boarding and an income as long as he remains employed at Ravenswood. You can’t fire him. You are required to pay him unless he quits of his own volition.”

  “He’s an accountant. He could find work anywhere.”

  “Perhaps he will.” Tyler rubbed the side of his nose. “Did Elijah treat Seymour differently from the other employees?”

  “My grandfather sent Seymour to school and college.” Zach interlocked his fingers. “My mother mentioned a mistress, and Seymour could have been the result. She didn’t like him and refused to live under the same roof. We stayed at the cabin by the lake.”

  “Families can be complicated,” Tyler said. “My mother led a colorful life. I had to come to terms with her choices, but it helped to know she was doing what she thought was best for her family. Your grandfather provided Seymour with an education and a position at Ravenswood.”

  “Do you think Seymour was expecting more?” Zach asked. “He could be disappointed by the will.”

  “Ravenswood was your grandfather’s property to dispose of as he wished. It doesn’t matter what Seymour expected or wanted. When do you leave for Ravenswood?”

  “Tomorrow. I’m not sure what to expect.”

  “It’s your home, Zach. No one can take it away from you.”

  ****

  Zach stared out of the window of the stagecoach. Although a train route passed near Ravenswood, it traveled north and south and didn’t intersect with the train route through Darrow Falls. He had taken the stage to make the western journey. Farms were nestled among gently rolling hills and clusters of virgin forests.

  He had come home for Paxton’s funeral in August of 1862. Zach had returned to Western Reserve College after his brother’s death but didn’t remain. With Harry and Ethan, he had enlisted.

  On a wintery night in 1864, he had met Cassandra Beecher as she entertained the three young men in her parents’ parlor. She had agreed to write him. His broken leg had given him the opportunity to spend time with her and share their first kiss. She had stood with him at the stage depot in downtown Darrow Falls. He had kissed her goodbye, and the memory hadn’t faded. She had promised to visit with Ethan and Harry for the sale. He was eager to show off Ravenswood.

  Zach didn’t bother to notify Seymour about his arrival. He had expected to be home in May or early June, and it was the end of July. The delay meant he had missed the only opportunity to say goodbye to his grandfather. Would Ravenswood feel like home? Only with Cass and his friends.

  After claiming his travel bag from the roof of the coach, Zach entered the general store at what was once the center of Ravenswood Town. The Town Hall, store, a church, and a boarding house were the only remnants remaining. The railroad had been built five miles west, creating a new downtown and leaving the old one a ghost town.

  After a hot, dusty ride on the coach, the cool darkness of the store offered relief from the drenching humidity. He smacked his kepi against his thigh to knock the dust off. Marcus Wheeler had finished the alterations to the length of his trousers and sleeves of his coat, but he wore his uniform, too proud to hide it. The floorboards creaked beneath his steps, and the store owner turned.

  Zach had known Fred Kettler as a boy. He was mayor, county clerk, and store owner. He had been present at all the sales of his grandfather’s horses, notarizing the transactions and recording them at the county courthouse. Fred had lost most of his hair with a fringe of gray remaining beneath a bald cap. He wore a long apron and was sweeping the floor. “How are you doing, Mr. Kettler?”

  He studied him. “I know those eyes. You must be Zachary Ravenswood.” He extended his hand. “You’ve come home.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Your grandfather followed Paxton in the Seventh Ohio and you in the Twenty-ninth Ohio. You fought in your share of battles.”

  “Some I would like to forget.”

  “From what I read, you have no reason to be ashamed. Your grandfather fought valiantly against death until you returned, but his heart wasn’t strong enough.”

  “My regiment’s mustering was delayed.” He tampered his anger. “Seymour wrote me, but he didn’t share many details.” He trusted the storekeeper and freely shared his feelings. “I wish I could have seen him one more time.”

  “I visited the day before he died. He was out of his mind at the end. Talking about horses and the sale.”

  “He was waiting until I returned for the sale.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Fred handed him a flier stored in the cubbyhole where he sorted mail. “Seymour had these printed a week after your grandfather died. Said he needed to pay the bills. He asked me to mail a stack of invitations with the flier inside. I kept a few announcements to hand out to the locals.”

  The flier announced the sale of the horses at Ravenswood on July 29.

  “It’s a week from Saturday. He must have known you would be arriving and planned accordingly,” Fred said.

  “Of course.” Fred was fishing. Seymour had planned the sale without him, but Zach wasn’t ready to accuse him of anything until he heard his side of the story. He studied the flier. “Do you have an envelope and a pen? I want to invite some friends to the sale.”

  Fred provided the supplies. Zach wrote on the back of the flier, folded it, and placed it in the envelope. He wrote an address on the front and handed it to Fred. “Could you post this?”

  “The eastbound coach won’t come through until tomorrow.”

  “That will be soon enough.”

  Zach took a second flier, folded it, and tucked it in his uniform coat pocket. Seymour hadn’t asked his permission to sell the horses. If his mustering had been delayed a little longer, he might have missed the sale completely. What was Seymour planning to do? Sell Ravenswood out from under him?

  Zach relaxed. Two years of fighting in a war had made him wary of enemies behind every tree and building. He was a civilian and needed to trust others. To a point. He removed a pair of leather boots from the shelf and tried them on. “I’ll take these.” He added a wide-brimmed hat and handed Fred a ten-dollar bill.

  He examined it in the light.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “We had some counterfeit bills spent here last month. County sheriff said they were old Confederate bills bleached and then printed to look like Union money.” He snapped the bill. “This one is real.”

  Fred gave him his change and handed him a stick of hard candy. “For old time’s sake.”

  Zach put the boots and hat inside his valise.

  “You’re not going to wear your new hat?”

  “I wanted to return home a soldier,” Zach said. Seymour had always frightened him as a boy. He wanted the old crow to see him in uniform. He couldn’t order Seymour to leave Ravenswood, but a little intimidation would show him who was boss.

  Without a ride, Zach had to walk the final distance to Ravenswood. It was a couple of miles, but years of marching had conditioned him for any distance. The light was low, casting long shadows in his path when he passed the stone pillars marking the entrance to the eight-hundred acres of property.

  He had drawn Cass a map of Ravenswood and recalled the details as he
walked along the tree-lined road. The main house would come into view soon. The carriage barn, shed, and broodmare barn were built in the rear. Grandfather liked to be close to the mares and foals born in the spring.

  From his second floor bedroom window, he could view some of the run-in sheds and fenced off grazing pastures that separated the horses by age and training. Other pastures were used to grow grass mixed with alfalfa and clover that would be mowed, dried, and stored for feed. In the northeast corner was a lake with a log cabin where he had grown up. Guests stayed there if they weren’t invited to the main house. Horse trainers and workers had barracks to live in.

  The four stone chimneys and top of the towers of Ravens Roost appeared above the tree tops, and he quickened his pace. The roof was dragon scale slate, and the walls were cut stone from the quarry by the lake. The round turrets graced the front corners and were mirrored in the rear. Three rows of seven arched windows were framed between the towers except on the main floor where a large arched doorway replaced the center window.

  Seven dormers broke the smooth line of the roof and their pointed peaks matched the high caps of each tower.

  The drive passed in front of the massive oak doors and around to the back. Zach paused in front of the entrance. Twin stone staircases with ornate iron railings formed an arc to the keystone decorations surrounding the entrance. The half circle framed by the steps had been a rose garden, the pride of his grandfather, but weeds were overgrown in the briars. A shutter was missing from one window, and another hung at an angle, ready to fall.

  He had expected Ravenswood to have aged but not been neglected. The front pasture, home to normally a dozen horses, was empty, and the grass had grown high. What had happened?

  Zach didn’t bother knocking. It was his home. The entranceway opened into a large hall that ran from the front toward the back of the house. Through an archway was a parlor for entertaining guests. It opened to a stone terrace overlooking the grounds. To the left was a dining hall and kitchen toward the rear. The library was to the right with an adjoining study. All the bedrooms were on the second and third floors. Servants lived on the fourth floor. Double staircases, one on each side of the hall rose to the second floor landing where the master bedroom doors could be seen. Elijah Ravenswood’s former room.