The steady rumble of the train traveling along the track provided a soothing accompaniment to her thoughts and fancies. The trees were not decked in various shades of tree-green as they would be come spring, but their late wintry state was beautiful in its own right. Lonely, leafless branches reached toward the clear blue, promising skies. Birds fluttered here and there, and small grayish-brown squirrels scurried about in the once-green meadow grasses. The promise of spring was quite evident—if one simply took the time to notice.
Sighing heavily, Lauryn caught sight of herself in the glass of the train window. Her brows were nicely arched and perfectly accented her hazel-green eyes. A small, rather heart-shaped mouth and high cheekbones were the only features of her face Lauryn found acceptable. She inwardly thanked the heavens for those satisfactory attributes. Her teeth were straight and white as pearls, and she assumed that made her smile something to be thankful for. Her figure was pleasingly well proportioned, and although she was not many inches above five feet, she could be considered of average height.
But her hair! The mass of brown, thick, wavy locks was her greatest frustration. It was a rather unusual shade of brown, like cinnamon and nutmeg sifted together. The problem was the seemingly blessed curl that let it hang in full, perfectly formed ringlets. It was impossible to get the thick mass of tresses to stay in any sort of style true to the times. When her hair was down, she reminded herself of some wild, untamed woman raised in the jungle. She did, indeed, keep it long, for cutting it short would have given her the appearance of wearing springs on her head! Consequently, when in public, Lauryn forever had to pull back the dark, wavy mane or deal with the surprised, disapproving stares of all mankind.
Finally admitting herself shallow in pointless musing, Lauryn thought, Perhaps there are those who are all the more beautiful than I am. But still, there are those who are less attractive. This was how she always managed to find peace with her seemingly common appearance. With one final sigh, Lauryn returned to her pondering on other of life’s factualities.
It had been over three-quarters of a year since she and Nana left Franklin, Lauryn reflected. It seemed hard to imagine they had been gone so long. It had been a glorious year in many ways, yet horrific in so many, many others. The war had ended. The world could be thankful for that. Yet the influenza had taken a massive quantity of human life. More people were taken by disease than men lost in the war. It seemed unfathomable to Lauryn that she should have been spared by the influenza’s merciless, murderous rampage. Then she realized it had been nearly six months since the influenza struck and took her father.
Lauryn’s mother had sent word that she and Nana were not to return home, as her father had fallen ill. It was a mere six days later that they received word of his death. She and Nana were not even able to attend the funeral. Her younger brother, Patrick, had contracted the disease, and they were advised not to travel. Nana was heartbroken that she could not attend her son’s wake to say her last good-byes. It was nearly unbearable for Lauryn as well. She missed her father! What would home be without him? She wondered if it would even seem like home. Her father’s presence dominated their home; his love permeated every inch of it. A part of her was frightened at life without him. And yet she was beginning to heal. The past months away from home had forced her to heal.
Lauryn closed her eyes and tried to dispel the visions of the evils that had devastated the world—the evil of war and the sickness of influenza. Oh, how she missed her mother and siblings, her friends in Franklin! The train could not arrive in Tennessee quickly enough for her.
She dreamily imagined her beloved Connemara House. She was so glad her Great-Grandfather O’Halleran had named it after the place of his birth, a little-known region in Ireland. It couldn’t have been more beautifully named. It was exciting to anticipate that in a few months spring would be nurturing the tiny buds of the prolific wisteria vines and trees that covered the grounds at Connemara so that…ahhh! Lauryn could almost smell them, almost feel the fragrant lavender blossoms that hung heavy on the vines. Inhaling deeply, eyes still closed, she tried to envision what the house had looked like the spring before she left.
The wisteria was beautiful that spring! Even with the war raging abroad, even with the ever-oppressive anticipation of good news or bad that prevailed upon everyone at home, the wisteria at Connemara was beautiful like a promise that God had not forsaken the world. Lauryn loved to watch the long clusters of blossoms dance softly with the breezes among the green of the vine’s leaves, spilling out their gently intoxicating scent. It seemed to be the pure perfume of heaven.
And, yes, her family—the loved ones of her heart. How wonderful it would be to see everyone! They were the spirited souls that made Connemara a piece of heaven. Lauryn had missed them all! And her father. She opened her eyes to dispel the vision of him, concentrating on those who remained.
She imagined her mother kneading bread dough and then busily cleaning up the kitchen while it was set to rise. Patrick would be waiting, very impatiently, for Nana and Lauryn’s return. There would be someone else to assist him in setting up his toy soldiers and shoot them down with pebbles to imitate the terrible war that had raged overseas. Who? None other than Lauryn. It was a certainty that elder brother Sean was too busy with his wife, Melinda, and new baby, Junie, to find a moment to entertain his wee boy sibling. Over the past long months, Patrick’s letters had pleaded with Lauryn to return, for he had not one worthy playmate—no one whose aim with a pebble were as deadly to a small tin soldier as his older sister’s. And how absolutely wonderful it was to now have a small niece to spoil and love! She could just imagine the wonderful scent of the new baby’s head and soft fuzzy hair. Yes, the new baby would be especially fun to greet.
And Penny, her dearest friend! Penny McGovern would have returned from her time away as well. Letters just weren’t the same as giggling face-to-face. Lauryn thought of the days she and Penny had spent playing on the grounds of Connemara. She smiled, remembering their pretended romances with Henry, the ancient statue that stood weathered and worn just outside the gate that led to the family cemetery. In her mind’s eye, Lauryn could still picture the way Penny demonstrated how to properly kiss a boy using Henry’s granite lips as proxy. Lauryn cleared her throat, realizing she had giggled out loud. Yes, it would be fabulous to see Penny again.
However, of all the people she’d missed, it was the Captain Lauryn was most excited to see. It had been nearly intolerable to be parted from him for so long—and yet almost a peaceful respite for her mind. Would he visit her immediately? she wondered. Would he wait until she had been home for several hours or days? She could not wait to see him! How she hoped he would not tarry in seeking her out. Even now she could imagine him, standing before her—his countenance so uncommonly handsome, his eyes searching hers familiarly, his uniform as inspiring as that day he’d first donned it before going off to war so long ago.
Closing her eyes once more, Lauryn sensed a smile spread across her face and a comforting warmness fill her body at the thought of him. How she longed for his company. And it was only natural that her mind then wandered back to the first time she met him, so very long ago—when her child’s heart was pure and open to believing all that it needed to believe.
To my husband…
Kevin from Heaven!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marcia Lynn McClure’s intoxicating succession of novels, novellas, and e-books—including Shackles of Honor, The Windswept Flame, The Haunting of Autumn Lake, and The Bewitching of Amoretta Ipswich—has established her as one of the most favored and engaging authors of true romance. Her unprecedented forte in weaving captivating stories of western, medieval, regency, and contemporary amour void of brusque intimacy has earned her the title “The Queen of Kissing.”
Marcia, who was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, has spent her life intrigued with people, history, love, and romance. A wife, mother, grandmother, family historian, poet, and author, Marcia Lynn McClu
re spins her tales of splendor for the sake of offering respite through the beauty, mirth, and delight of a worthwhile and wonderful story.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
A Better Reason to Fall in Love
The Bewitching of Amoretta Ipswich
Born for Thorton’s Sake
The Chimney Sweep Charm
A Crimson Frost
Daydreams
Desert Fire
Divine Deception
Dusty Britches
The Fragrance of her Name
The Haunting of Autumn Lake
The Heavenly Surrender
The Highwayman of Tanglewood
Kiss in the Dark
Kissing Cousins
The Light of the Lovers’ Moon
Love Me
An Old-Fashioned Romance
The Pirate Ruse
The Prairie Prince
The Rogue Knight
Romantic Vignettes-The Anthology of Premiere Novellas
Saphyre Snow
Shackles of Honor
Sudden Storms
Sweet Cherry Ray
Take a Walk With Me
The Tide of the Mermaid Tears
The Time of Aspen Falls
To Echo the Past
The Touch of Sage
The Trove of the Passion Room
Untethered
The Visions of Ransom Lake
Weathered Too Young
The Whispered Kiss
The Windswept Flame
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine Page 32