Zach slid his hand along the dusty railing that curved along the inside of the staircase. He and Pax had raced with their bellies against the smooth surface, crash landing on the stone floor no matter how many times Seymour yelled at them.
He paused when he reached the landing and stared at the closed doors of his grandfather’s room. He wanted to enter and find him inside, resting in his large four poster bed or seated at his rolltop desk. But he was gone. Zach turned right and carried his belongings to his room, the last one facing the back of the house.
The draperies were drawn, and a mustiness prevailed in the closed room. He pushed the fabric along a metal rod and opened the window. The bed, dresser, washstand, and storage box were coated with dust. No preparations had been made for his return. The coverlet was one his mother had made and transferred with his belongings from the cabin after his parents had died of influenza. Pax and Zach had preferred boarding school to visits to Ravens Roost. They had spent weekends with the Herbruck brothers and Donovan cousins before the war changed all their lives.
He dumped his valise on the bed. It sagged under the weight. The ropes needed tightening. He found the bed key in the frame and tightened the ropes beneath the cornhusk-filled mattress. When he was done, he put his clothes in the dresser. He used a washcloth hanging on the handle of the washstand to remove the dust from the wood surfaces. Zach arranged his personal items on top of the dresser. He stared at the photograph of Cass he had purchased in Washington City when they had visited Matthew Brady’s studio at 625 Pennsylvania Avenue. “I hope your father allows you to visit. I miss you.”
He surveyed the room. It was habitable. The pitcher needed filled so he could bathe. He opened the door and peered into the hallway. Where were the servants? Ravenswood employed a cook, two maids, and gardener not to mention the foreman and stable hands for the horses.
He hadn’t expected a throng welcoming him at the door, but finding Ravenswood deserted was unnerving.
Voices drifted through the open window. He looked outside. Two men talked by the door to the stables. He recognized Seymour with his thin frame and hunched shoulders. The other man wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded his face. His straight brown hair hung about his shoulders. He had a familiar stance. He was military.
Chapter Sixteen
Zach hurried downstairs. When he reached the foyer and turned the corner, Seymour loomed before him and only his quick reflexes prevented them from colliding.
Seymour’s dark eyebrows rose in alarm. “Zachary.” The immaculately dressed man wore all black with a crisp white shirt beneath the coat and vest. He was in his fifties, and his dark hair had begun to gray. He had been a fixture at Ravenswood all his life, but Zach had never paid much attention to the family accountant. Were the rumors true? It didn’t matter. He was master of Ravenswood. “I believe it’s Mister Ravenswood now that my grandfather has died.”
Seymour bristled at the correction. “From your last letter, we didn’t know when to expect you, sir.”
“As soon as I received my discharge papers, I hurried home. I was distressed to learn my grandfather had died. If I had known he was ill, I would have sought permission to come home sooner.”
“Elijah Ravenswood expected to recover,” Seymour said. “I was unaware your regiment had traveled to Kentucky until I reviewed your grandfather’s correspondence. I sent you word. Did you not receive my latest missive?”
He was shifting the blame. “I did. I regret my delay.”
“He died peacefully.”
Seymour’s words didn’t comfort him. He should have been home to say goodbye. Zach looked around at the dust-covered furniture and worn carpets. “What’s happened to Ravenswood?”
“Many of the staff have died or left over the years, and your grandfather didn’t replace them. The remaining workers have had trouble maintaining the estate. The house and grounds fell into disrepair.”
“Now that I’m home, that will change. I intend to begin repairs immediately.”
“I wouldn’t be too hasty,” Seymour warned in a silky voice. “Ravenswood depends heavily upon the annual sale of its horses. Your grandfather delayed the date, waiting for you to return. Then he became ill, and funds have nearly been depleted.”
The sale advertised in the flyer in his coat pocket? Instinct, honed by years of eluding the enemy, warned him to avoid showing his hand. He changed the subject. “Who’s taking care of the horses?”
“I hired a new foreman and his men last month. They’re experienced horsemen.”
“What happened to the old foreman and his workers?”
“Old age,” Seymour said. “Your grandfather shouldn’t have kept them on as long as he did. You’ll find the trainers and handlers are competent and hard workers.”
“I hope so. Ravenswood depends upon healthy, well-trained stock. I plan to hire a veterinarian and more staff.” He looked around the room. “The house feels like a mausoleum. Is anyone left?”
“A cook, but as I said, Ravenswood has little cash until the horses are sold. I recommend a sale as soon as possible.”
Seymour had already arranged one. “I will consider it,” Zach said. “It was a long trip, and I’m tired and hungry.”
“I’ll have the cook prepare a meal.”
Zach returned to his room and removed his uniform. It had served its purpose. Seymour had shown him respect, but he doubted it was sincere. He dressed in the civilian clothes he had purchased. He stroked the familiar wool uniform discarded on the bed. That part of his life was over, and another was beginning, albeit not the one he had imagined. He folded the jacket and trousers for storage.
He opened a trunk, expecting it to be empty, and found the clothes he had sent home from Western Reserve College after he had enlisted with Harry and Ethan. He removed them. They had belonged to a skinny youth. The jacket was too narrow and the pants too small. In the bottom were several books from his childhood, a copy of Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. He placed them on the nightstand next to the bed. Books were meant to be read. When Cass visited, she could take them back home for Sterling and Jefferson.
The lamp was low on oil and the wick needed trimmed. He retrieved his military notebook from the dresser top and opened it to a blank page. He listed lamp oil. One thing at a time. He dropped the clothing into the chest along with his field glasses, mess kit, and other military items he had kept as souvenirs. He should have purchased his Enfield musket. No, Cass had warned against violence. They had experienced too much in their young lives. He would deal with Seymour with tact and the maturity of a grown man.
Zach passed Pax’s room, paused, and opened the door. Like his room, a layer of dust covered the furniture. Another quilt his mother had made covered the bed. He lifted the lid to a matching footlocker. Inside were clothes Pax had worn in civilian life. His school books were stacked to one side with a package on top. It had been opened but left intact. Inside was Pax’s army haversack with his personal belongings. He sorted through the razor, mirror, knife, and a few coins. He found an opened letter and read it.
I regret to inform you that your grandson, Paxton Ravenswood, was mortally wounded at Cedar Mountain. He was transported to Washington City where we made his last days as comfortable as possible. He spoke fondly of you and his brother, Zachary. The Seventh Ohio lost one of its best. My sisters and I offer our condolences.
It was signed by Jennifer Pierce, Colleen, and Jessica Beecher, care of Mermaid’s Mirth in Washington City. Soldiers talked of fate, Harry preached God’s plan, but Zach believed in idealism tempered by realism. He was going to take advantage of whatever circumstances had caused Paxton to cross paths with the Beecher sisters and introduced Cassandra into his life. Ravens Roost would only be a building until she joined him as his wife.
He returned the letter and closed the lid to the storage box. His grandfather’s bedroom was next along the back of the house and in the center facing the double staircase. He turne
d the knob.
The smell of a strong cleaning solution assaulted and burned his nostrils. The bed had been stripped of bedding and both the feather and cornhusk-filled mattresses. He opened a drawer. The dresser was empty. All of Elijah’s personal belongings and his favorite hat were gone. Nothing remained. No memories.
Zach slammed the door and hurried downstairs. There had to be a reason for the ravishment, but an answer eluded him. He entered the dining room.
The familiar surroundings soothed him. The polished table with matching oak chairs, the long sideboard, and the two chandeliers were the same. Light filtered through the stained-glass windows above the tall sectioned windows. A castle, knight, beast, and fair damsel were illustrated in the different panels of colored glass and leading. The last panel was a blooming rose. It symbolized prosperity at Ravenswood. But the roses in front were being strangled by the weeds.
The dining room table was set for two. “Do I have a guest?” Zach asked Seymour when he entered.
“I was planning to join you.” Seymour took the seat at the head of the table. “We could discuss your plans.”
Zach had earned his stripes by taking command. “I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t sitting in my chair.”
Anger flashed across the older man’s face, but Seymour rose and took the seat on the side. “Your position as master of the house will take some adjustment.”
Zach took the seat Seymour had vacated. Paxton would have sat here if he hadn’t died. Second sons were ill-prepared to inherit. But Seymour would discover the frightened youth he bullied in the past had grown into a man. He had fought and killed to stay alive. In Georgia, he had gone on reconnaissance missions to discover the enemy’s position, a weakness, and victory. He had less than two weeks before the sale to uncover Seymour’s plans.
An elderly woman with white hair and wearing a black dress and white apron pushed a cart into the room with a large bowl on top. She looked back and forth between the two men. “Why is a guest sitting in your chair?” Her loud voice echoed off the wooden beams decorating the ceiling.
“This is Mister Ravenswood,” Seymour shouted. “This is Mrs. Graves,” he explained in a normal voice.
A familiar face, but one that had aged and gone deaf. “I hope you remember my favorite dish.”
“Favorite fish?” She looked confused. “I didn’t fix fish tonight.”
“Dish!” Seymour shouted.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Graves. Whatever you cooked, I’m sure it’s delicious.”
She studied his face. “Young man, do I know you?”
“I’m Zach.”
Her face brightened. “Pax. I remember you. You were such a smart young man. Nothing like your brother. He was always getting into trouble.”
Seymour snickered. “She’s old and senile and has nowhere to go.” He pointed to the bowl on the cart. “The soup is growing cold, Mrs. Graves!”
With a shaky hand, she ladled soup into their bowls and set a board with sliced bread on the table.
“What are you serving, Mrs. Graves?” When she didn’t answer, he pointed at the bowl. “What is it?”
“Squash soup.”
Squash? He tentatively tasted the orange liquid. The seasoned soup was surprisingly delicious. Mrs. Graves was a good cook. Her deafness could be overlooked.
During the war years, an evening supper had replaced the noon-time dinner as the main meal. Mrs. Graves served roasted rabbit that fell off the bone, fried potatoes, and green beans. Dessert consisted of pound cake topped with strawberries.
His appetite satisfied, Zach turned to Seymour. “My grandfather’s room was empty. What happened to his personal belongings?”
“They’re in a trunk on the fourth floor,” Seymour said. “When he died, we cleaned and removed all his belongings in the room. Do you plan to stay in it?”
“Not immediately,” Zach said. “I plan to be here a long time, so I’m in no hurry to make changes. And with limited funds, I’ll need to prioritize what is done first.”
“I’m here to assist in any way.”
He leaned toward Seymour. “I’d like to see the books and determine how much Ravenswood is in debt.”
Seymour’s normally bland expression registered a worried reaction for a moment. “I’ll see to it.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough.” Zach strode to the library. Elijah hadn’t updated his collection with any current authors. When Cass visited, he’d ask her to recommend some purchases. She had read to him while he was convalescing. Her rich, expressive voice had turned any story into an adventure.
He selected several books on horses. They were dusty. Seymour had never shown an interest in the animals, only their value on paper. Without his grandfather’s expertise, Zach would have to learn how to run the farm on his own.
He sensed someone in the room and turned. Seymour stood in the doorway. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“A few books to read.”
Seymour sneered. “It’s a pity you didn’t finish your schooling.”
“The battlefield taught me to survive,” Zach said. “You don’t learn that at a college.” He passed Seymour and headed upstairs.
****
The next day Zach wandered through the rooms to regain a familiarity with what was now his home. It was missing something. Or he was lonely. His friends couldn’t arrive soon enough, especially one dark-haired lady. If necessary, he’d use his military pay to make repairs to Ravenswood. He didn’t want Cass to be disappointed with her future home.
He entered the kitchen and found Mrs. Graves stirring eggs in a skillet on the stove. Biscuits were steaming on a round baking sheet on the table. The tops were golden brown. He grabbed one. It was hot, and he passed it from hand to hand.
“You’ll ruin your breakfast, Mister Ravenswood.”
He spoke loud and clear. “I have to compensate for two years of starving in the army.” He bit into the hot flaky layers. “This ought to do it.”
She smiled. “You have your mother’s eyes.”
“Do you remember my mother?”
“She was a beautiful woman and devoted to your father. Pity they died. Ravenswood could have been a happy place. So much death.”
The old woman was alone in the kitchen. “Where is the rest of the staff, Mrs. Graves?”
“I’m it,” she said. “Seymour fired the staff after Elijah Ravenswood died. He kept me on to cook, and once a week, a woman comes to do the laundry. Seymour said Ravenswood was in debt, and he had to cut expenses. But that didn’t stop him from hiring handlers for the horses or keeping on the nurse.”
“Nurse?”
“Sister Lucia took care of your grandfather.” Mrs. Graves served scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, applesauce, and hot coffee. He had his choice of jams or butter for the biscuits.
No other plate had been set at the table. “Do you know where Seymour is?”
“He never rises this early.” She poured more coffee into his cup.
Zach was used to military time. “I don’t miss the sound of the drums waking me, but you won’t catch me in bed once the sun is up.”
Mrs. Graves took his dishes when he was done. “Do you know where my grandfather’s belongings are? Seymour said they were on the fourth floor.”
“Come.” Mrs. Graves led the way along the servants’ staircase to the fourth floor landing. The hallway was narrower and the rooms smaller than the second and third floor guest rooms. She opened a door and lit a lantern. She pointed to a small chest. “Seymour had me pack his belongings after the will was read.”
The new will? Zach met her gaze. “Who read the will?”
“Mr. Kettler. He handles all the legal matters for the county.”
He could imagine Seymour’s reaction. “Is that when he fired the staff?”
“Yes, sir. Then he tore Elijah Ravenswood’s room apart looking for a different will.”
Seymour wasn’t happy with his position. Zach carried the box of his g
randfather’s belongings to his room. Elijah’s old hat was on top. He had worn the same style of fedora all his life. The beaded band had been made by a native woman. When a hat had become too battered, the beaded band was removed and sewn onto a new hat.
Zach compared the hat he had bought from Fred Kettler. It was the same style. He removed the band from his grandfather’s hat and placed it on his. He’d carry on his grandfather’s tradition.
Zach headed to the stables where the broodmares were kept. Most of the foals would be a couple months old and fully bonded with their mothers. They were his horses now. He wanted to become acquainted with them so he could identify them, and they wouldn’t be skittish around humans.
He walked through the empty barn. A man was cleaning a stall. He filled a wheelbarrow with the wet straw and pushed it up a ramp created with a plank and dumped his load in the back of a wagon. The manure piles were kept away from the house. Once dried and decomposed, they were spread on the fields to grow hay and alfalfa.
The cleaned stalls were banked with straw, and the water buckets were full. They were ready for the mares and foals to return and escape from the hottest part of the day. At least the horses weren’t being neglected.
He passed through the opposite end of the barn and surveyed the mares and foals in the pasture. The young ones stayed close to their mothers, but in a couple of months they would bond with the other foals and be weaned before winter.
Chapter Seventeen
A lean man with a patch over his left eye stood by the gate that led from the pasture to the barn. His jacket was a bleached Union cavalry coat. He hadn’t replaced the military buttons.
“I’m Zach Ravenswood.” He extended his hand.
“Bryce Dawson.” He removed a glove. The grip was firm, his palm calloused. His other hand rested on the handle of a revolver in a holster on his hip.
“Did you serve in the war, Bryce?”
“Cavalry rider.”
“Which side?”
Impending Love and Madness Page 14