By the Wind's Will
Page 17
The ladies came in chattering gaily. They made straight for the cradle, where their squeals of delight soon set the child to crying. Catherine, oblivious to her exquisite ball gown, immediately cuddled the babe to her chest. He quieted and gazed sleepily around the room, sucking on one curled fist as his grandmother reached out her arms to hold him.
Foxy lifted her drink to the ladies and spoke jokingly. “Mistress Scott! What do you think of our son?”
Margaret’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “He is a handsome lad, ‘tis true. My daughter has done well.”
The four of them laughed and then chatted amiably for a while. Charles reached out for Foxy who grasped his hand. He addressed the women who were cooing over the child. “Ladies, I beg of you to excuse Foxy and myself. We have business to discuss.” He then turned to Foxy. “Dear Fidelia, does this house have an office or such, where we may transact business in private?”
“Certainly, Sir, come with me.” Foxy replied, leading the way from the drawing room.
Foxy spoke in the hall. “Take a right here, Charles. What sort of business do you have in mind, by the way?”
The older man’s dim eyes twinkled slightly as he answered her. “Ah now, it’s my secret, isn’t it? I refuse to discuss the future of my grandson while standing in some draughty hallway. I’d much prefer an overstuffed armchair and a snifter of brandy. It’s the only way to air out an important subject.”
They turned into the study and soon Charles was relaxed and comfortable in a padded chair before a banked fire. Nevertheless, Foxy’s patience was tried still further for he had to drink deeply of and savor his brandy before he could bestir himself to speak.
“I suppose you are wondering as to why I’ve called this little meeting?” He chuckled and ran his hand across his forehead. “I hate to say it, Foxy, my girl, but I’m getting old—far too old to be running a plantation such as I have in Finley. My eyes too, are completely gone. Why, I can no longer read the numerous documents set before me each day. I have to trust those in my employ, sometimes I trust them a bit too much. My sons too, have begun to bicker over my estate.” His face tautened with anger. “They act as though I’m already in my grave. Joshua though,” he smiled suddenly. “Joshua has been good to me. He has stayed on and become my right arm in all Finley Plantation dealings. Him I trust to act in my stead.”
His voice grew sharper and Foxy saw the shrewd planter he must have once been. “Well, as you certainly know, I am a wealthy man and I want to get to the heart of the matter right now. I have living at present nine children and Lord only knows how many grandchildren. Recently I’ve rewritten my will including all my children and grandchildren. Here,” he reached into his breast pocket and produced a sealed document. “I have here a copy for you. Please don’t open it until the time of my death.”
“But, Charles,” Foxy protested.
“Hush, woman! I must have my say. Now, where was I?” He took a deep swallow of his brandy. “Oh yes, I have left the plantation lands and the house itself to Joshua.” He chuckled gleefully. “I swear, that boy loves the plantation more than I ever did. He’ll be happy with it.
Here he paused for a full two minutes and the only sound was the ticking of the tall grandfather clock in the corner.
He resumed talking so suddenly that Foxy started nervously.
“You are very special to me, Fidelia. In a sense you’ve brought Catherine back to life and Margaret and I are forever grateful to you. I gave you a large dowry when you and Catherine set up housekeeping, which you tried to refuse.” He cackled toward the fire. “You’ve got spirit, me girl, but I had more. You took it, didn’t you?”
Foxy laughed. “I had to because of your damnable stubbornness. You had it delivered to my door—all the way from Georgia. What could I do?”
Charles grinned. “Damned true. Damned true. The letter we received from Catherine, explaining all that happened, well—” He stopped, his voice choked. “How you coaxed that from her, I’ll never understand but voicing it seems to have healed her pain. That and your love for her.”
“And I think the babe has helped, too. Evil has been turned,” Foxy added.
Charles nodded agreement. “Now, back to the subject at hand. I’ve left you out of my will but not from negligence. I’ve had to leave it to Catherine, as you two are not legally wed. You, of course, will have some control of Catherine’s share, being her partner in this life. I know you are not greedy, for you have character which is something. I admit, the majority of my children and their mates are sadly lacking in.
“Oh ho! I can see it now. No sooner than I am pronounced dead, they will begin their bickering and fighting over my money.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do you know what I did? I beat them to the draw, as they say, I sold off all my minor investments and collected together my wealth.” He relaxed back and chuckled. “I felt rather like a miser with all of it in a pile before me.”
Foxy felt compelled to interrupt again. “But, Sir, won’t that...”
“Blast you, woman!” Charles slammed his palm upon the arm of his chair. “Don’t disturb my path of thought. I’m old and tend to wonder.”
He reached into his pocket again and drew forth an envelope packed to the point of bursting. He handed it to Foxy. “Here, impatience, this is for Rand. It’s the money from a few paltry investments which I have dissolved and split among the grandchildren. You will also find, in there, a bank draft which entitles Rand to receive a monthly stipend until the age of twenty-five. Oh, there are papers there, too, which give him control of my warehouse in Georgia and the one here, in New Orleans. When, of course, he reaches the age of twenty-five. This doesn’t go into effect until my death and you will be in control until he comes of age.”
Foxy sat stunned, the envelope held loosely in her hands.
When she spoke, her voice wavered slightly. “But Charles, Why? Why us?”
Charles turned cloudy eyes in her direction. “Fidelia, your father was a dear friend of mine. I prospered in America and he didn’t because of certain problems that we needn’t bring back up. He died a tired, broken man. You, despite your meager background, went on to become a prosperous person in your own right. You are proud, shrewd, smart and compassionate. You ask nothing of no man. I feel like you’d be the same way without a cent to your name. I, who am surrounded by spoiled, money-hungry children, arguing greedily over my fortune, like what I see in you and your unusual family.
He nodded his head wisely. “Call me perverse, if you like, giving to those who don’t ask, but then again, I feel that they may very well be the ones truly deserving.” He lifted his glass and drained it.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to attend your ball, but only as an observer. Do you think you could tuck me away in a corner with a big pot of hot English tea? ‘Twould please me greatly.”
“Certainly, sir,” Foxy said, as she placed her son’s money in the locked strongbox behind her desk. “It will be my pleasure.”
They left the study, Charles leaning heavily on Foxy’s arm as her memory soared.
Her mind drifted back to the night she had arrived at Finley. Late that night as she disrobed, she’d come upon the letter from her father. She could, even now, remember it word for word, though she’d kept and cherished the letter.
For my darling Foxy,
I know that I have failed you and your mother. God as my witness, I only meant the best for us all. You may not love me, may discredit me as your sire, but I will not go back on one promise I made to you.
Your money is safe. I have hidden it well in hopes that you will come back to Finley someday and read this missive. I only hope that you can do with it what I did not. By the by, the ring is there, too. The Nelson ring.
Believe it or not, we are descended from royalty. It seems your great grandfather found disfavor with Her Highness and his lands and properties were confiscated. The ring is all that is left. Wear it well, my daughter, you are deserving.
&nbs
p; In deepest love,
Your Da
Foxy had gone to the cabin and, following the crude map Giles had drawn, had found the two sacks of money under a loose foundation stone. Tears had blinded her as she thought of how simply they had lived,
The tiny cabin had looked even smaller and more decrepit than ever. She’d held the sacks, one in each hand and heard her father’s voice in her mind. This was something to leave the children she might someday have.
Now, as she seated Charles in a comfortable chair in the already sweltering ballroom, the candlelight caught the golden N of the ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand. She smiled, confident in the future. She had done what her family had come to this new land to do. Her son would be an heir to the prosperous life she had fostered. Foxy knew she had done her duty.
About the Author
Nat Burns retired from a medical publishing career in Virginia and became a full-time novelist in 2007. Since then she has published fourteen novels with three different publishers.
During her ten years as a journalist, she won two Virginia Press Association awards, as well as honors from Writer's Digest, Muse Magazine, Writers in Virginia, The Virginia Writing Club, Piedmont Writing Institute and Writers of the Future. She taught journalism and creative writing as part of the Writers in Virginia program and worked with the Small Press Writers and Artist Organization for many years, serving one year as president. She currently writes a monthly column called “Notes from Nat” with a magazine in Los Angeles.
Since becoming a novelist, Nat has won one Golden Crown Literary Award and twice was voted a finalist. She was also honored with the 2011 Alice B. Lavender Certificate for her novel Two Weeks in August. Her poem, “Womanwalk”, won first place in the local Virginia Writing Club contest and third place in the VWC state competition, 2005. Other poems have appeared in dozens of publications, such as Lynchburg Magazine, The Wishing Well, Muse Magazine, Witness to the Bizarre, and Worlds of Surrealism. She won state honors for a short story, “The Road, The Rock”, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for her short story “Diverse Delusions”.
As an editor, Burns worked with VA NOW, Byrd Newspapers, County of Nelson, Hampton Roads Publishing and Carden Jennings Publishing. She has edited more than three dozen fiction and non-fiction books, many of them winning awards.
She currently lives in Albuquerque, NM with her partner Chris and three demanding felines.
Complete information can be found at natburns.org or natburns.com
More Titles from Nat Burns
Gospel
Gospel, using erotic poetry and prose, takes the reader on a journey into the mysterious world of woman-to-woman relationships.
The first part, Genesis (We Desire), focuses on that initial, all-consuming attraction two women can feel for one another. Beginning with the phrase “you steal across me like twilight” and progressing to the physical awe portrayed in “Wet Panties”, Genesis propels the reader into the passion of part two.
The second section, Psalms (We Love), shares the intense sensuality experienced by new lovers. “I feel a sort of hum, electric in nature” lays a path to “aching, hesitant, I limp emotion closer” as women explore issues of passion and deep need, abandon and trust.
In the third part, Revelation (We Lose), lovers separate on emotional and physical levels. The words “you take my love yet deny my passion” reveal the frustration caused by the machinations of a lover and the phrase “a loneliness seeps through, saturating a living sponge grown of flesh and blood” deals with indifference.
In summary, Genesis is the burgeoning of love, Psalms, the fruition of passion, and Revelation, the grief of loss.
This book is unique in that it consists of small servings of emotion, whether glee, sadness, frustration or anger, and a myriad of women instead of one main protagonist. There is a thread of continuity between the three units and the resolved situations in each short story. It is erotic, sometimes graphic, and draws the reader into the highly sensual lives of women.
ISBN: 978-1-61929-090-7
eISBN: 978-1-61929-091-4
Available From these e-tailers:
Amazon
Bella Books
Kobo
Barnes and Noble
The Wittering Way
The Meab have lived peacefully in the forest surrounding Lake Feidlimed for millions of centuries. Even when the humans arrived in their silver sky ships, the Meab had stayed strong, if hidden. Now, human technology has taken over the Brinc clan and Cleome, eldest daughter of the Widdershin join, finds she must avenge her slaughtered parents and rescue her captured sister.
Getting onto Brinc lands won’t be easy. To get there she, and her ragtag band of young peers, must deal with the elementals of nature who try to prevent their passage, as well as trying to blend into a society now as much metal as magic. At the citadel of Signe Ray, Cleome faces her greatest challenge and her greatest grief. Will she take the next, dangerous step and summon the darkest forces of evil to fight at her side? Or will she admit defeat against such overwhelming odds?
This story, the first in the Tales of the Meab series, introduces us to the many magical joins of the nature-based Witta clan and the oh-so-rational joins of the machine-based Brinc clan and the ongoing differences between them.
ISBN: 978-1-61929-286-4
eISBN: 978-1-61929-287-1
Available From these e-tailers:
Amazon
Bella Books
Kobo
Barnes and Noble
Be sure to check out our other imprints,
Mystic Books, Quest Books, Silver Dragon Books,
Troubadour Books, Young Adult Books, and Blue Beacon Books.
VISIT US ONLINE AT
www.regalcrest.biz
At the Regal Crest Website You'll Find
The latest news about forthcoming titles and new releases
Our complete backlist of romance, mystery, thriller and adventure titles
Information about your favorite authors
Current bestsellers
Media tearsheets to print and take with you when you shop
Which books are also available as eBooks.
Regal Crest titles are available directly from Bella Distribution and Ingram.