Finding the Runaway (Keepers of the Light Book 4)

by C. T. Worth

  And at breakfast…that expression. She had started out so wide-eyed — like a doe afraid she was about to be shot. It was enduring and alluring all at once. Then, after he clarified she would still have a roof over her head, a softness had come over her. In that moment, she reminded him so much of Mildred it hurt.

  But that was all this was. He was missing his wife. Emily was a poor substitute, trying to trick his heart by tapping into his endless love for Mildred. It meant nothing. Once he got used to her, it would pass.

  If only she would not look at him the way she did. Those lingering glances…she probably had no idea what she was doing to him and would be mortified if she found out.

  He needed that chopping block. His mind could not take any more of this. Besides, she was engaged to some bachelor, and he had promised himself he would focus on his son. The sooner she was trained to be a wife, the faster she could leave and the happier he’d be.

  With the last dish washed and placed in the rack to dry, Hunter headed outside. Should he grab his coat? No, he wouldn’t need it. Chopping wood would work up a sweat. Outside, he briskly made his way to the north side of the house.

  Ten swings of the ax later, and his shirt was sticking to him while beads of liquid rolled down his face. He looked around. Leland and Emily would be in the orchard. They’d have no reason to pass by here. In fact, there wasn't another soul for miles. He unbuttoned his shirt and walked to a nearby tree. Pulling the garment off his hot sticky body and letting the cool breeze wash over him reminded him of the humid summers of his youth — when he would dive into the cold waters of the river in the woods to find relief. This chilly autumn air was precisely what he needed.

  He pulled the ax free from the stump and resumed his work. Several logs later, he had the unsettling feeling he was being watched. He turned and discovered Emily standing behind him, mouth agape. He quickly set the ax down and walked to the tree branch that had held his shirt off the ground. He snatched it up, presented his back to her, and redressed.

  “I…I apologize. I was lost and heard the noise. I didn’t know…”

  Facing her was one of the most difficult tasks he had done since crossing the Mississippi. “No, I am the one who should apologize. I thought you would be in the orchard. I didn’t expect to encounter anyone.” His fingers rapidly buttoned his shirt front, but his eyes never left hers. The strange and awkward moment stretched on for what could have been an eternity. Finally, he had the wherewithal to say something, anything to shift the focus away from his appalling blunder. “Oh, the orchard is off in that direction.” He pointed.

  She was as red as a rose, and it was exceptionally becoming. She nodded, dropped her head, and left.

  Embarrassment had drained him of any further excess energy. He gathered the wood he had chopped and carried it inside. After neatly stacking it near the fireplace, he went to his room and washed up.

  It was Leland's voice that alerted him they’d returned. He could hear his son’s laughter and chatter even before the door opened. It had been so long since Leland had shown such animation. The doubts he had on the wisdom of his decision to invite her to stay with them vanished.

  Hunter stepped into the main room. Given their encounter not twenty minutes earlier, he was prepared to face a certain degree of tension between himself and Emily. He had been rehearsing a more eloquent apology but found it was unnecessary. She was smiling as though she hadn't given their unexpected meeting a second thought. He should be relieved, but he found himself slightly disappointed.

  “Pa,” Leland called. He held an apple with several bites missing in his left hand. “We think we should have a picnic.”

  Hunter glanced at the rack where the breakfast dishes lay. He had heard that young boys ate like hungry wolves, though he had not anticipated this behavior for a few more years yet. “But we just ate.”

  “Not now. After we make the applesauce.”

  Leland walked to the table and took a few apples from a basket that had not previously been there. He carried them to the basin that Hunter had emptied after using it to wash the dishes.

  “He was hoping we could eat lunch at the lighthouse,” Emily explained.

  “Why don’t we see how long it takes to boil the apples?”

  Leland picked up the empty pitcher. “Come on, Emily. We need to get some water from the well. I’ll show you how.”

  She laughed as they left, and the sound awoke something in Hunter’s heart. Leland was certainly taken with her. Unfortunately, so was he.

  ***

  “It helps if your knives are extra sharp.” Hunter held an apple in his right hand and demonstrated how a knife should be held for peeling. “You want to approach the apple from a narrow-angle, otherwise you will take off half the fruit with the skin.”

  “Does it work the same with potatoes?”

  “Pretty much. Their skin is a bit easier to cut through, but if your knives are sharp it shouldn't matter.”

  She picked up an apple and a paring knife and tried to replicate his pose. Leland giggled. He shook his head and tossed his fifth peeled apple into a bowl.

  Hunter reached over and adjusted her wrist. As soon as she felt his touch, her mind drew a blank. Would cooking be so difficult when she was with Miss Fletcher?

  “Be sure to slide the knife away from you so you won’t cut yourself and hold the apple from the bottom.”

  She applied some force and a sliver of apple sailed across the table and landed on the floor.

  “Try to turn the apple as your knife cuts.” He began peeling his apple and the skin came off in one long spiral. “It helps if you go slowly.”

  She tried again. It went far better. She did not have a long-coiled spring like he did, but she had a ring of peel.

  Leland had long since finished peeling, washing, and quartering all of the other fruits by the time she had completed peeling her first apple. Hunter poured those pieces into a cast iron pot that had been heating during their preparations, added a small amount of water, and covered the pot with a lid.

  “How did you learn to do that?” she asked.

  “Peel an apple?”

  “No, make apple sauce.”

  “It’s a pretty simple recipe,” he said with a shrug.

  “Mama showed him,” Leland said, looking up from his book.

  It was a topic that had not previously been mentioned, and Hunter’s pained expression spoke volumes to why.

  She leaned in, and softly said, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You weren't.” He glanced at Leland before adding, “It is wrong of me not to speak of her more often. He deserves to remember his mother, and we owe it to her to carry on her memory. It's just so painful.”

  She had never before seen a man so vulnerable. She wished she knew what to say. She reached over and patted his shoulder. It must have been the right thing to do because he smiled weakly.

  “This will be our first Christmas without her. I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have Leland. If I’d lost him…” he stopped, and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Was it an accident? Was he in danger?”

  “The war changed her, robbed her of her strength. I was given a furlough. Once I had left to return to battle, she found out she was pregnant. Not long after, our home was raided. The soldiers took everything we had of any value. Our neighbors weren't much better off. She nearly died giving birth, but she hung in there, probably knowing that our son needed her. During the last year of the war, and the six months it took me to get back home, she gave everything she could to Leland. When I arrived home, she was so weak and frail. She was thinner than any soldier I’d seen. I thought with time, she would recover, but she never quite did. Eventually, a fever took her.”

  Lilian opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage to say.

  His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he gave her a smile that held so much warmth she had to catch her breath. Her mother
had once told her that sometimes it was best just to listen. Judging by his expression, her mother might have been right.

  Chapter 9

  Lilian had been working with Miss Fletcher for two weeks. They had formed a comfortable routine. In the mornings, Lilian would help with chores around the Foresters’ home. In the afternoon she and Leland would have lunch with Miss Fletcher before she would sit at the large dining room table and help the boy complete his homework.

  Lilian had been learning quickly and was shocked that she could have grown into adulthood without having already acquired these life skills. So important did she view her new education, she stayed at the Foresters’ after Leland’s homework was complete so the boy too could practice these lessons. Together they would finish a few chores, often finding a way to make the drudgery less onerous. But a few hours before Hunter completed his work and came to collect them, she would bring the child outdoors where they would both fill their lungs with fresh air and create wild, imaginary adventures —typically involving the lighthouse.

  To everyone’s surprise, Lilian and Leland quickly formed a friendship with the reserved and somewhat reclusive Miss Fletcher. Seldom had Miss Fletcher been required to routinely work so closely with another person. This constant exposure and the distraction of work enabled the elder lady to overcome her natural shyness. Little by little the side of herself she kept hidden from the world emerged. All discovered she possessed a sense of humor, a quality that greatly shocked and delighted the Foresters who had known her for thirteen years.

  Until today, this routine had become fairly rigid. But on this particular morning, Miss Fletcher took lunch on her own, for Lilian and Leland arrived forty minutes later than usual.

  When the pair walked in, Miss Fletcher, who had been standing next to a large butcher block placed in the center of the room, eyed the younger lady with suspicion. “You're certainly in a good mood.”

  Lilian glided across the room as if floating on air. “Am I?”

  “Well, your smiling and humming suggest you are.”

  Leland was standing near the counter staring at a plate of cookies with a sincere longing. He crossed over to Miss Fletcher and tugged on her skirt. “May I have a cookie?” he asked.

  The boy was sure to be as charming as his father when he grew up. Even Miss Fletcher had trouble denying him anything. “You know the rules. After your lunch young man.”

  Leland pouted. “But we already ate lunch with Pa.”

  Her gaze darted over to Lilian, who was doing her best to avoid eye contact. “Did you, now?” She handed him a cookie and said, “Why don’t you go eat that on the porch, so you don't need to worry about dropping any crumbs?”

  As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned on Lilian. “So, you had lunch with Mr. Winfield, did you?”

  “And what is wrong with that?” There were times when Lilian could understand Bethany’s insistence that her caregiver had been a little too strict. “I told you we would be late and not to prepare lunch for us.”

  “It wasn't that which concerns me.”

  Lilian shifted under the weight of Miss Fletcher’s glare.

  “Does this fiancé of yours, the one you're learning how to keep house for, know you're socializing with your employer?”

  Lilian cringed with guilt. Not for the reasons her friend might have believed, but rather because the closer she grew to these people, the more Spruce Hill began to feel like home, the more she regretted the web of lies she had created.

  “I wouldn't necessarily call him my employer,” she mumbled. “He doesn't actually pay me.”

  “You can try to avoid the question all you like, but I am not as easily sidetracked as that little boy you spend the afternoons with.”

  If she didn’t already know, Lilian could have guessed by her tone that Miss Fletcher meant business. She wrestled with herself overcoming clean or telling one more lie. In a moment of weakness, she took the least difficult path.

  “Fine. If you must know, I have been having second thoughts about my pending marriage. I think I might like to stay here in Spruce Hill.” She noticed a raised eyebrow and added, “Mrs. Portly always needs extra help at the hotel and I’m learning so much from you, she might just give me a chance.” She colored at having told such a blatant lie.

  With a heavy sigh, Miss Fletcher walked into the dining room and beckoned Lilian to follow. Once the two were seated, the older woman seemed to search Lilian’s eyes. “So, this sudden love for small-town life hasn't got anything to do with Mr. Winfield?”

  Lilian broke eye contact. She knew she had just revealed one of the truths she had hoped to conceal.

  “Because, if it does, you had better make sure you know if he has any intentions toward you.”

  If only it was so easy. How am I to do that?

  “And if he does, you’d better verify they are honorable. Many a young, pretty girl has found her heart broken because she did not investigate such things right at the outset.”

  Miss Fletcher’s shocking words caused Lilian to gasp. “I don't see how you can so quickly jump from lunch to such thoughts.

  “Did you not just say you are considering breaking off an engagement?”

  “Yes, but the two things have nothing to do with each other.”

  “Well, I can't speak to your feelings on a man I never met and that you never speak of, but I can see the way you look when you talk about Mr. Winfield.” Miss Fletcher’s words were slow and deliberate. “I would need to be blind to miss the way your eyes sparkle when the two of you are together. You needn't try to hide it from me. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  “That obvious?” she asked dejectedly. If her emotions were so clear and he had not voiced his, her prospects were bleak. But as she fretted over Hunter’s feelings, she couldn't help but become a little agitated with the woman causing her troubled thoughts. “Fine. Maybe I like him a little. Is that so terrible…or surprising? He is handsome and he has been so kind and thoughtful.”

  Miss Fletcher softened. “It is neither of those things. But I am a thirty-two-year-old woman, without a home or family of my own, who has devoted thirteen years to helping a man raise his child. I understand the consequences of sacrificing your life for a flicker of hope. I can tell you — it is not worth it.”

  Lilian turned at her friend. There was a sadness in her eyes. It may have always been there. Perhaps, she had just never noticed.

  “That man rarely shows his thoughts or feelings openly,” Miss Fletcher continued. “He may feel the same toward you, or he may not give you a second thought. But you are in danger of falling in love, you’d be wise not to walk any farther down that path until you know his position on the matter.”

  Chapter 10

  After an additional two weeks, Lilian had learned the domestic arts so well, Miss Fletcher found she had nothing new to teach. Lilian still spent the morning helping around the Forester home and gossiping with her friend to pass the time while Leland was in school. But more often than not, once his class was completed for the day and he finished his schoolwork, they would walk home through the woods. They would spend the remainder of their afternoons preparing dinner and completing chores in their own small home.

  Hunter had become so accustomed to this new arrangement he could no longer imagine parting with Emily. She filled a much-needed role in their lives, and she seemed happy. So blissful was life in their small homestead that Hunter routinely left the mill to hurry straight home. Today, however, he had witnessed something at the mill that reminded him of a gentler, kinder time.

  Deputy Spencer had come by to see Miss Forester. Before he left, he presented her with a small box of chocolates. She had been so delighted she sparkled. Hunter asked why the small gift had elicited such a strong reaction. She told him that it wasn't her great love of chocolate that made her so happy. She was grateful that her future partner had done something to remind her that he appreciated her. This got Hunter wondering. What had he done to show Miss
Emily his thanks?

  When his carriage rolled through the center of town, Densley’s caught his eye. He pulled over, hitched his horse and went inside. No sooner had he said hello to the clerk than he was reminded that no good deed went unpunished. He rounded a corner to find Selene Grande standing not five feet in front of him —beaming.

  He had done a pretty good job of avoiding her since moving to Spruce Hill. It wasn't that he objected to her. She seemed like a nice girl. He was just not ready to court anyone. At least that is what he reminded himself daily. But today Selene wasn't batting her eyelashes or toying with her hair. It was abundantly clear she had something she wanted to say and was nearly bursting at the seams to say it.

  He lifted the brim of his hat. “Good evening,” he greeted. He scanned the nearby shelves trying to locate where they kept those boxes of chocolates.

  “Hunter,” she greeted, extending her arm in expectation of a handshake.

  He wasn't sure if he would ever grow accustomed to this type of greeting. He reached out and shook her gloved hand, forcing himself to give a little smile.

  “I went with my father into Astoria last week to assist him in selecting some new fabrics.”

  “That must have been very exciting,” Hunter said turning away from her. “If you will excuse me…”

  “There was a man there handing out flyers,” she said as if he hadn't spoken. She reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. She held it out for him. “He is searching for his fiancée. He is afraid that maybe she bumped her head and is struggling to remember who she is.” A little flutter of the paper acted as encouragement for him to take it. “This copy is for you.”

  Hunter took the article and looked at it. His pulse quickened.

  “Thank you, Miss Grande, I will be sure to keep an eye out.”

  Neither needed to state the obvious. The girl in the photo looked very much like Emily.

  He immediately left the store, all thoughts of chocolate forgotten. He haphazardly folded the flyer and reluctantly stuffed it into his coat pocket. He couldn't explain why, but he wanted to burn it. That single sheet of paper was nauseating.