Shenandoah Home (Sinclair Legacy Book 1)

by Sara Mitchell

  “Of course, Meredith. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not medical,” she blurted, then wished she’d bitten her tongue before opening her mouth at all. “Never mind, it’s not important. Mercysake, but everything smells heavenly. What’s in here anyway?” She set her basket down next to Sloan’s.

  “Food. Meredith, relax. If you don’t need me as a physician, then remember that I’m your brother-in-law. Family. You can ask anything you like.”

  She tapped the ends of her fingers together—a nervous habit she’d tried for years to break without success. Sloan waited, not speaking, a half-smile showing beneath the thick mustache. His stance was relaxed, shoulders propped against a post, his expression peaceful. He looked very different from the dark, brooding man Leah had described the previous summer.

  “Garnet’s very lucky. I’ve never seen her look so . . . radiant. And happy.”

  “Not lucky. Blessed by God. Both of us.” He paused, then added with a gentle smile, “And not because of anything either of us did, you know. It’s called grace.”

  “I used to think you were hard as petrified oak. I was afraid Garnet was going to have her heart broken in tiny pieces because of it.” Meredith finally hugged her elbows to still the betraying flutter of her fingers. “She came to see me last summer. Did she ever tell you? I’m afraid I recommended that she go on that lecture tour with Mrs. Ward. I’m glad Garnet made a wiser choice. I wish—”

  With a forced laugh she turned to search the yard. “I wish Phineas would hurry up and come out from his hiding place. It’s still such an amazement, a fox for a pet.”

  “I’ve thought the same thing, many times.” His hand closed over her elbow and turned her back around. “How about if you come out from yours, hmm?”

  “My what?”

  “Wherever it is you’re hiding.” His hand dropped away. “In most ways, you and Garnet are very different, personalities as well as looks. But there’s something about the expression in your eyes, Meredith. I’ve seen it in Garnet’s, not as much as I used to, thank the Lord. But I’ve learned to recognize it.”

  “Oh?” This had been a mistake. She should have known better, should have kept her flapping gums sewed together. They hadn’t come to hear about her problems, didn’t need their ears filled with her secret insecurities. Her . . . her whining. Her father didn’t need the burden either. No matter how he tried to disguise it, Jacob was still coping with loneliness.

  Meredith tossed her head and injected a bright note in her voice. “What have you learned to recognize?”

  “A troubled heart,” Sloan said.

  Traitorous tears welled up, making a mockery of her forced insouciance. “Sorry.” She swiped them away, blinking furiously. “Leah never cries. Garnet seldom cries. I cry all the time. I hate it. I’m sorry.”

  “I have a clean handkerchief and two shoulders. You’re welcome to them all.” He handed her the folded cloth from his pocket. “Garnet used to hate her hair,” he commented while Meredith blew her nose. “I’m sure you knew that.”

  “She was teased all through our childhood. I was too, about the tears. At least until the boys learned I could give them bloody noses and make them cry as well.” Incredibly she felt lighter inside. “You’re trying to tell me that I should just accept the way I am, right?”

  “Mm. You hide it well, I’m beginning to realize.” His gaze roved over her. “Even windblown and covered with sawdust, you still project an aura of sophistication, Miss Meredith Sinclair. Part of it’s style—the clothing, the way you wear your hair. But it’s all a facade, isn’t it?” He balled his hand and tapped her uplifted chin. “Inside, I’m beginning to see that your heart is as tender as your sister’s.”

  “According to my employer, my heart’s too busy falling at men’s feet or chasing after them until they trip over their own. I imagine Mr. Walker’s of a mind that my heart is about as tender as the sole of an old boot.” She searched Sloan’s face. “You’re a man. Which makes this awkward because . . . well, because I don’t want you to think . . .” She blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Think what, Meredith?” Sloan asked finally.

  She never should have yielded to the impulse to talk about this. Meredith ignored the prickles of discomfort tickling the back of her throat and plunged forward. “Think that I’m a—a flirt. A tease. The sort of woman men might enjoy but never respect.”

  “I’ve known a woman like that. You’re nothing like her at all.” His mouth thinned, a flicker of deep anger licking through the words. “Has someone made you feel that way?”

  Meredith regarded him warily. “Garnet’s told me about your temper and your control. I’m finally beginning to understand both.”

  “Quit dodging the subject.” He smiled to soften the order, but Meredith decided not to test his patience further. Sometimes medicine was best swallowed quickly.

  “There are two gentlemen. One of them, I have reason to believe, finds my company pleasing. It’s possible that we could form an attachment. The other gentleman”—she had to stop a moment to swallow against the unpleasant taste—“has no interest in forming any kind of personal attachment.”

  She paused again, briefly considered the attraction of dashing toward the barn to hide in the hayloft, felt disgust with herself at the thought, and fixed her gaze on her brother-in-law. “I don’t understand why the gentleman who is not attracted to me would belittle my feelings toward the other man who has given every indication that the feelings are mutual.”

  “I can’t speak for all men,” Sloan said. “But it might help me to advise you better if you tell me their names.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “None. Unless you want my advice.” Head tilted sideways, he stroked the ends of his mustache. “Would your employer, Benjamin Walker, happen to be one of those men?”

  “Yes. The latter.” She had to look away then. “He more or less implied that I was behaving like a shallow flirt, or a woman of loose morals, because of my regard for a gentleman who may or may not turn out to be a business associate.”

  Meredith tried to choose her words carefully. Tried to remain as rational as Leah . . . or at least as calm as Garnet. “There was a misunderstanding between Mr. Walker and J. Preston Clarke. I’m convinced it was—”

  “J. Preston Clarke? He’s the man for whom you’ve developed this . . . attraction?”

  His incredulity made her bristle and banished much of her uncertainty. “Not you, too.” Meredith planted her hands on her hips and plunged into battle. “I know he’s the richest man in this part of the state—even more wealthy than Mr. Walker. I know I’m just a cabinetmaker’s daughter, whose only claim to kinship with that sort is”—she punched the middle of Sloan’s chest—“my well-heeled Yankee brother-in-law.”

  “Meredith, that’s beside the point. You—”

  “And for your information, I didn’t pursue Mr. Clarke. This . . . this whatever has happened between us . . . it just happened.” She was making a hopeless botch of everything. “Never mind. Just . . . never mind. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  She picked up a heavy basket of food, opened the door, then turned to glare at Sloan. “I’ll get supper on the table. You and Garnet probably want to start home before too late.” Pain leaked through in spite of her resolve. “Thank you for putting me in my place. You do it almost as well as Mr. Walker.”

  Cloud cover obscured the night sky, leaving only the diffused glow from the twin lamps mounted on either side of their carriage to light the way. Sloan drove slowly, with one arm looped around Garnet’s shoulders. Phineas sat between them with pricked ears, plainly enjoying the damp chilly air.

  Garnet burrowed her gloved fingers into the fox’s thick fur. “Do you want to tell me what happened between you and Meredith? She went out of her way to avoid talking to you at supper.” In fact, her sister had all but acted as though Sloan didn’t exist. “She’s unhappy, I know that. Whenever she talks too much about not
hing, we know something’s wrong. Leah used to hide in the spring house, she got so weary of what she called Meredith’s ‘chirpy chatter.’ ”

  Sloan laughed. “An apt description.”

  “Papa and I were sort of hoping she talked to you when the two of you were on the porch. Every time I tried to pry anything out of her, she changed the subject.”

  “I’m probably not her favorite person right now.” His hand rose from her shoulder, and his fingers softly stroked her cheek. “Truth to tell, I’m not real proud of myself.”

  “Sloan . . . what happened? No—it’s all right, baby.” She patted Phineas, who relaxed back against her side with a tail-wagging whine.

  “Spoiled rotten, old man, that’s what you are.” In the fitful lantern glow Garnet saw him smile. “And I know you’re shy, but you didn’t help the situation with Meredith, my pet. She just wanted to play with you, you know, not skin you for a stole.”

  “Sloan . . .”

  The stroking fingers tugged the hair at the nape of her neck, then returned to the reins while he negotiated a rough patch of road. “If I had to venture a diagnosis, I’d say Meredith’s struggling with some aspects of her life right now. I should have addressed that underlying issue, when she and I were out on the porch. Instead I came across like a heavy-handed older brother.” He heaved a sigh. “Your sister’s quite taken with J. Preston Clarke, I’m afraid.”

  “What? J. Preston Clarke? The Preston Clarke? Where could she have met him—oh. Through Mr. Walker, of course.”

  Dismayed, Garnet lifted Phineas onto her lap so she could snuggle closer to Sloan. “Well, the attraction must be mutual. Meredith has too much pride to chase after a man who hasn’t expressed an interest.” She rubbed her cheek against Sloan’s sturdy shoulder. “I was afraid it was something like this, though I never expected it to be Preston Clarke. Oh, Sloan . . . she’s lonely. She hides it well, but I know my sister. She wants someone to love, someone to love her. Like us. And with Meredith, I’m afraid discretion has always taken second place to impulse. Buttercups and bitterweed. Why did she have to fall for Mr. Clarke?”

  “From the little bit I gleaned from her, you’re right. The interest was initiated by him.”

  “And why not? Meredith’s beautiful, charming. She’s been the belle of Shenandoah County since we were in pinafores.” But J. Preston Clarke? Garnet shivered a little, remembering one of her conversations with Felicity the previous summer. “Felicity Ward met Mr. Clarke. She told me he reminded her of some Italian man she’d read about in a book—Casanova, I believe was the name. I’d never heard of him. She also said Mr. Clarke enjoyed his power a bit too much.”

  “Mm. She said that, did she?”

  Garnet nudged him. “Don’t think you can adopt that lofty physician’s tone with me. What haven’t you told me, Dr. MacAllister? Dire consequences await arrogant husbands.”

  “Is that a threat, Mrs. MacAllister?”

  “It might be.”

  His teeth flashed in a pirate’s smile. Before she could blink, he pulled the horses to a halt, set the brake, and captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. “What’s the penalty?” he whispered after a while. His mouth nibbled a warm trail from the line of her jaw to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. “Hmm?”

  “I love you.” Garnet wrapped her hands around his wrists and tugged. “But you can’t divert me with seduction this time.” She kissed the corner of his smiling mouth. “What do you know about Preston Clarke?”

  “Smart as a fox, isn’t she, fella? Very well. I can restrain myself until we’re home.” Sloan released her and straightened, patting an offended Phineas, who had had to leap onto the floor to avoid being squashed by his amorous demonstration. “I don’t like repeating rumors, sweetheart.”

  “Nor do I. But Meredith is my sister. Is that what upset her? You told her something about Mr. Clarke she didn’t want to hear?”

  “Not exactly. She’s under the impression that I object to . . . how shall I put it? To the differences in their stations, I suppose. She’s partly correct. From what I’ve heard about the Clarkes, the family makes my mother sound like a patron saint of the common folk. I’m afraid Meredith will be hurt, even if the attraction is serious on both their parts.”

  “I daresay your family’s wealth surpasses even the Clarkes’. Yet you still married me.” She hesitated. “Sloan? When are we going to go visit your mother? I know you were hurt when she didn’t attend our wedding, but—”

  “Leave it, sweetheart. When the time is right, I promise we’ll go. But I have patients who need me. If something happened because we were visiting . . .”

  “All right.” Garnet brought his clenched hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I understand. We’ll wait until God finishes healing all those old wounds inside your soul.”

  “I love you more than I have words to describe, Mrs. MacAllister.” He cupped her face, then released her to pick up the reins. “Preston Clarke’s rumored to keep a mistress in Front Royal,” he said as the carriage wheels began to turn.

  “Oh. Oh, dear.”

  “I didn’t tell your sister. She didn’t give me the opportunity, and I frankly don’t know how I would have approached the matter if she had.”

  “Meredith wouldn’t have believed you, if she truly cares for Mr. Clarke,” Garnet said. “She’d claim it was nothing but nasty rumors, designed to smear his reputation out of jealousy or something. She’s loyal to a fault. But there’s still that impulsiveness . . .” She sighed. “Papa’s fretted over her for years, you know. Well, not fretted, precisely. Papa doesn’t fret, he just talks to God more. But you’re right. If Mr. Clarke has taken an interest in Meredith, I’m afraid that’s our only recourse. A whole lot of prayer. And a whole lot of patience.”

  Without warning, Phineas leaped onto the seat. He barked, several short, high-pitched yaps, his front paws pressed against the glass Sloan had fixed in place before they left Sinclair Run.

  “What’s up, fella? What do you hear out there?”

  “I hear it too.” Garnet twisted on the seat, struggling to open her window. “Sloan, someone’s yelling. Behind us.”

  Without further comment her husband pulled the carriage to the side of the road again. “Stay here.” He opened the door and jumped lightly to the ground.

  “Sloan! Garnet! Wait! Stop!”

  Bareback astride a horse, her skirts and petticoats shockingly hiked, Meredith galloped out of the darkness. She hauled back on the reins, bringing her mount to a half-rearing halt. “Oh, thank God!” She released her grip on the horse’s mane to thrust tangled strands of unbound hair from her face. “Please. H-hurry.”

  Sloan caught her as she half fell, half hurled herself to the ground. “Steady. What’s wrong? Is it Jacob?”

  Teeth chattering, Meredith nodded, her wild-eyed gaze swinging to Garnet. “P-papa. Please . . . he’s so sick. Sloan . . . he’s so sick. I’m afraid he’s going to—that he might—”

  “Sweetheart, help your sister into the carriage while I tie her horse to the boot. Swiftly now. That’s it. Hold on.”

  Hold on. Garnet grabbed Meredith’s arm and shoved her inside. “Don’t step on Phineas.” Her lips felt numb, and the words sounded as though they’d been strained through a cider press. She climbed in after her sister.

  “H-he was lifting my heartwood chest down. He wanted to—I was going to take it back . . . he doubled over. I grabbed the chest, put it on the floor. And Papa . . . Papa—” Her hands covered her face as she began to sob, great wrenching cries that soaked her face.

  Phineas whined, his small body quivering against her ankles. Garnet lifted him to her lap, and he licked her face. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but Phineas calmed her. The unconditional love visible in the unblinking eyes reminded her that God knew when a sparrow fell from its nest—or a cruelly injured fox needed help. Phineas reassured her that she wasn’t alone. That their father wasn’t alone, not even now. Thank You, Lord.
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  “Here.” She lifted Phineas and dumped him in Meredith’s lap. “H-hold him. It helps.”

  “He doesn’t like me. He won’t want me to—oh.” The tear-thickened words ceased when Phineas burrowed his cold nose against her neck and emitted another low whine. Meredith choked and buried her face in the soft fur.

  Sloan climbed inside, slamming the door. “Hang on. We’ll be back there as fast as we can.” His hand closed around Garnet’s and squeezed.

  Then he lifted the reins. Seconds later the carriage was racing through the night.

  Thirty-Four

  Hands clasped behind his back, Ben strolled along the deserted piazza of the Jeffersonian Hotel in Luray. The hotel wouldn’t officially open until May, but Ben had received permission to look around because the consortium of Northern speculators who had invested in the place six years earlier were hoping he would buy it. After two days of detailed investigation, however, Ben had increasing qualms about fulfilling their hope.

  Yes, the Luray Caverns brought in tourists, enough to fill hotels to capacity as soon as they were built. With mind-numbing swiftness factories and businesses had swelled the small town’s population, though nowhere near the forty thousand people that the Shenandoah Valley Railroad president had predicted.

  Luray was a boom town, and yet . . .

  Ben stepped into the street, frowning as he studied the three-story hotel. Someone touched his arm. “Excuse me, Mr. Walker?” The hotel manager’s son stepped back, smiling nervously.

  “Yes?”

  “You have a call on the telephone, sir. If you’ll follow me?”

  A telephone call? Concern mounting, Ben hurried after the boy, into the deserted hotel.

  An hour later he and Hominy were on the way to the depot, where he made arrangements to catch a southbound train out of Strasburg to Woodstock. Mrs. Biggs couldn’t provide as much information as he would have liked, so Ben had decided to pay a visit to the Sinclair home in person. Find out for himself the gravity of Jacob Sinclair’s illness.