When the Moon Falls
Storm Spells Beckon Book Four
Kathryn Kaleigh
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WHEN THE MOON FALLS
TWIST OF FATE PREVIEW
Copyright © 2021 by Kathryn Kaleigh
All rights reserved.
Written by Kathryn Kaleigh.
Published by KST Publishing, Inc., 2021
Cover by Skyhouse24Media
www.kathrynkaleigh.com
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, of events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Twist of Fate
Twist of Fate
Also by Kathryn Kaleigh
Prologue
December 1851
Today Samuel Becquerel became a man.
Today he was of age. Sixteen.
And like his father, his grandfather, and so on before him, Samuel moved into the garçonnière.
The garçonnière, a bachelor’s apartment, had been built by Samuel’s Uncle Nathaniel at least a hundred years ago.
A lot of myths swirled around the garçonnière, and as a boy, Samuel had delighted in frightening his little brother and his friends with tales that Samuel gleefully turned into ghost stories.
Samuel plucked a cigar from a tin box on the table in the foyer.
This house was a smaller replica of the larger house, Becquerel Estate, where Samuel had grown up with his parents and younger siblings.
He ran the cigar beneath his nose. Though he loved the scent, he wasn’t much of a smoker. Yet.
Father assured him that he would develop a taste for fine cigars over time.
He put the cigar back into the tin box. Though he didn’t smoke them, having them here at his disposal made him feel grown up.
As the oldest son, Samuel didn’t believe in the ghost stories, of course.
And he saw it as his duty to embellish them.
Straightening his black formal jacket, he walked into the parlor.
His parlor.
And tonight he would have friends over. Five other eligible bachelors. Older than him, of course, since Samuel was only sixteen.
But they could drink whiskey and smoke cigars to their heart’s content.
A rite of passage.
The parlor was tastefully decorated in dark burgundy. Velvet drapes. Cross-stitched fabric chairs with hunting scenes.
A sturdy, but elegant, sofa waited in front of the fireplace.
No one had lived in the apartment for any length of time since Uncle Nathaniel.
But Samuel didn’t mind.
This place was perfect for him.
Everything was laid out. Ready for tonight.
A fire was laid in the fireplace.
The bar was stocked with clean glasses and bottles of good whiskey.
He ran a hand over one of the bottles, pulled out the cork and sniffed.
It was going to be a good night.
A movement to his left caught his attention.
Thinking someone was outside the window, Samuel turned.
He nearly jumped out of his skin.
A young lady was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire.
Samuel clutched the smooth wood of the bar.
Only moments before, he’d walked past the sofa where she sat.
She wasn’t there before. He would stake his life on it.
As his heart rate slowed back to a normal pace, he tried to sort this out.
The woman was older than he was, but she was hands down beautiful.
Short dark hair framed a serene face with lips the brightest red he’d ever seen.
She didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him.
The woman’s dress looked more like a lacy black undergarment.
The dress only came down to her mid-calves and left her shoulders bare.
Yet she was wearing shoes with little heels, pearls around her neck, and matching black gloves that went to her elbows.
It was as though she had gotten dressed, but forgot to put on her gown.
She smiled at him, those red lips curving up at the corners.
Samuel glanced around, grasping wildly for some kind of explanation.
“I apologize for intruding like this,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Someone put you up to this?” Samuel asked. It was one of his friends, of course.
Perhaps this was a… birthday surprise.
“No,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
He took a step closer. “Are you alone?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “Will you sit with me?”
Samuel could think of no reason to refuse this lovely lady, so, keeping his gaze on hers, he went to the sofa and sat next to her.
“I’m Vaughn,” she said, holding out a hand.
“Samuel,” he said, taking her gloved hand and bowing over it.
“Samuel,” she repeated, blinking in confusion.
He nodded. “Yes. Samuel Becquerel.”
She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Please tell me, young Samuel Becquerel,” she said, looking at him with deep sparkling green eyes. “What year is this?”
“1851,” Samuel said.
She frowned. A lovely frown.
“Are you sure?” she asked, toying with something around her wrist. A pink band of some sort. It made a scratchy noise as she turned it on her wrist.
Samuel caught himself before he laughed. “Absolutely. Today’s my birthday.”
“Then happy birthday young Samuel Becquerel,” she said.
She seemed to study him. As though trying to figure something out.
Samuel looked over his shoulder. He still expected one of his friends to pop in, full of laughter and mischief.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, turning back.
He saw her out of the corner of his eye as he turned back around.
He’d go to his grave believing that.
But by the time he was
turned completely around, she was gone.
Vaughn had vanished.
1
The oak trees provided shade from the sun, but the heat was still brutal.
Maybe it was partly the river, but it just smelled stale. And hot.
Only in Mississippi in middle of June could heat have a smell.
Ella had moved away from the south. To Denver as soon as she started college.
University of Colorado. Chip the Buffalo all the way.
As a new alumnus, she felt a special kinship with the Buffalos and wore the t-shirt to show it.
She couldn’t get away from the heat fast enough.
The huge oak tree next to her had limbs as wide as a tree trunk that dipped almost to the ground. The tree wore its silver moss like a dignified elderly gentleman.
Ella Sinclair kicked at the broken glass of the telescope lying on the ground. The tripod was in pieces and the scope itself was shattered.
It looked like it had been run over by a four-wheeler.
It was a miracle in itself that she’d even stumbled over what was left of the telescope.
If she hadn’t seen a mere reflection of the sun off a piece of the glass she wouldn’t even have come this way.
But a path behind the house had simply seemed to open up and she’d merely followed it.
Besides, she had a vague memory of her older brother Daniel talking about coming out here and traipsing about in the woods.
Daniel was ten years older than Ella and they had different mothers.
But they had the same rogue of a father and as a result, they had spent all of one Christmas together.
It had been a disaster, but it was a long time ago.
She’d never held any resentment toward Daniel. He was as much a victim of circumstance as she was.
She picked one of the larger pieces of glass and squinted through it.
It was like looking through a prism. Everything—the oak trees, the green spring foliage—looked brighter. The scent of honeysuckle blossoms was strong. Birds fluttered noisily overhead.
It was like everything was deeper. Brighter. Fresher.
She put out a hand to steady herself against the nearest tree.
But there was no tree.
She stumbled, dropping the piece of glass.
And fell against the tree.
That was odd.
Maybe she had jet lag. She’d flown in last night and had felt rested this morning.
But it had been one of those unplanned, rushed flights.
Daniel’s mother had called Daniel’s father who then called Ella.
Apparently Daniel had gone missing.
He was a professor at some university in Dallas and had finished up his spring classes, turned in his grades, then just vanished.
No one had worried much because he hadn’t been scheduled to teach any summer classes, but he called his mother almost always once a week. A week or two and she wouldn’t worry, but it had been four weeks.
Four weeks and his calls went straight to voice mail. His texts didn’t show delivered.
He’d come here and hadn’t gone back.
His Mercedes was here. His cell phone was inside.
The door was open, so she’d climbed inside to check. His cell phone was in the console, but the battery was so dead, it didn’t even turn on when she plugged it into the charger.
So she’d gone looking.
That’s how she’d ended up out here.
She bent over and picked up the piece of glass again.
Held it in her hand and studied it.
It looked ordinary enough.
2
May 1861
* * *
Samuel Becquerel picked up the ax, swung it over his head, and slammed it into the wood, splitting it cleanly into two pieces.
He had a nice stack of firewood on both sides of the stump he used as a chopping block.
There were probably more important things he could be doing, but right now he wanted… needed to get away from his brother John so he could think.
Sometimes a man just needed to be alone with his own thoughts.
Otherwise, he got caught up in doing whatever it was other people were talking about doing.
And that, he decided, was exactly how they, meaning the country, had gotten into this situation.
Mississippi had done it. They had seceded from the Union.
And his younger brother John was all caught up in the frenzy of it.
It was ludicrous.
The stupidest thing Samuel had ever heard of. How did part of a country break ties with the rest of the states? This was America, for God’s sake.
He balanced another piece of wood on the stump and slammed the ax into it.
The satisfying crack of splitting wood followed.
He balanced the ax on the ground and straightened his shoulders.
Took a look around the farm.
The only movement was his father riding his dapple-gray out into the fields. His two hound dogs following at his heels.
Samuel took after his father in a lot of ways.
Father preferred to spend most of his time in the fields. Apparently he liked to be with his own thoughts, too.
The house, a large two-story Greek revival style mansion, was surrounded by tall, elegant oak trees planted by Samuel’s great-great grandfather.
Nathaniel Becquerel had been a man with vision. But unfortunately that vision had been overshadowed by eccentricities.
The man had built the big house, then built a smaller version just like it. Or vice-versa. Samuel couldn’t remember.
But the man had lived his life in the small house. A garçonnière now for the young men.
But not Samuel.
Samuel had never lived in the garçonnière.
Stretching his back, he turned around and looked toward the trees.
At first he thought he was seeing his little sister, Beatrice.
But he blinked.
Definitely not his sister.
Besides, she’d gone into town that morning with their mother.
The girl was just standing there, staring into space.
Samuel smiled to himself. It could be his sister, only a bit taller. The girl was wearing pants, like his sister often did and preferred over dresses, and a black shirt of some kind.
She had long brunette hair pulled over one shoulder.
She wasn’t just pretty, she was stunningly beautiful.
Then the light shifted and she was gone.
Samuel slammed the ax into the stump and left it there while he headed inside the house.
There were some things better left alone.
3
Ella heard the rain coming before it hit, but not soon enough to avoid it.
At first she hadn’t even known what it was. Being in the dense woods of the south was a lot different from being in the wide-open spaces of the plains of Denver where a storm was hard to miss from a mile away.
The rain blinding her, she ran toward the back veranda of the house.
By the time she reached the covering, she was soaked.
There was nothing worse than wet blue jeans.
Assuming the house was locked, she sat in a rocking chair to wait for the rain to pass.
It was dark now. The clouds had brought the darkness of night early.
She jumped when a bolt of lightning flashed in front of her.
It was followed by a rumble of thunder.
Ella sat back, pulling her feet up under her. Her white canvas sneakers were soaked, too.
Her only change of clothes was back at the hotel in Natchez.
It was going to be a long drive back to town.
The problem was, she was no closer to finding out where her brother, Daniel Sinclair was.
He’d been here. The only thing she could do now was to report him as a missing person.
She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and tapped it against her thigh.
Before she got the police involved, she owed it to Daniel to check inside the house.
Didn’t she?
If he was in there, he was probably hurt. Or worse.
No one left their cell phone in the car and let it run down like that.
She sighed and clicked open her phone.
It was time to call the police.
No service.
She’d have to do it later.
She was a bit relieved, actually.
Since she had no cell phone service, that meant Daniel didn’t either.
That explained why he’d left his phone in the car.
He had no use for it.
Heartened, she stood up and, leaving her phone on the seat of the rocker, stepped toward the windows.
Her jeans were heavy from being caught in the rain and would chaff her skin if she moved around too much.
She went to the first window and looked inside. But the drapes were drawn.
She moved to the next window and peeked inside.
The room was fully furnished.
It was a man’s study.
Perhaps Daniel was inside.
There was an empty glass on the desk and other signs that someone had recently been in there. A stack of papers on the edge of the desk.
This did not look like an abandoned house.
She shaded her eyes to better see inside.
She jumped at the sound of the grandfather clock.
The grandfather clock.
Ella tried to think. Did a perpetual clock exist?
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