by Jen Turano
“You were always a fine shot in your youth,” Uncle Amos called from the crowd. “But if you want to stay in Izzie’s good graces, you might want to forget that.”
“Don’t you dare let me win,” she said, sending him a wink. “It’s either a fair challenge or you will find yourself reading Little Women to the children, and you’re going to pretend you like it as you read.”
When she sent him a smile that left his mouth turning dry, he found himself at a complete loss for words, but thankfully, he was spared any response at all when Henry gave him a nudge forward. Eyeing the cans, he took aim, relief flowing freely when the first can went skittering off the fencepost.
Two minutes later, it was over.
“Treasure Island it is,” Izzie said cheerfully before she waltzed away, her arm linked once again with Susan’s, a woman who’d certainly become, in a very short time, a dear friend to Izzie.
After the meal had been served, Ian finally settled into a chair underneath a maple tree, his gaze returning to Izzie time and time again. She appeared to be everywhere at once, directing the children as they helped clear the dishes, and then bringing out tray after tray of desserts, ranging from cookies to cakes and even fruit dipped in chocolate.
Her laughter was heard often, and when the sun began to dip in the sky, she was still smiling as she stood in the lane watching the many carriages rumble away, a sleeping Daisy resting her head against Izzie’s shoulder and Violet holding Izzie’s hand. That the community had embraced her was clear, a belonging that Izzie certainly seemed to relish.
Having one more glass of lemonade underneath the tree with Izzie, Uncle Amos, and Aunt Birdie after the last guest had disappeared down the lane, Ian couldn’t help but appreciate what had been a truly marvelous day.
He’d been accepted back into the fold with no hesitation, as if he’d not abandoned everyone for Pittsburgh over a decade ago. Granted, he’d come home whenever he could to check on Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos, and he had stopped in different businesses in town to catch up briefly with the Canonsburg folk. But he’d not taken the time to inquire about their lives, something he was only now realizing he’d missed.
After the lemonade was gone, he went with Izzie to get the children ready for bed, and then he climbed up to the attic, retrieving his copy of Treasure Island.
Sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed in the room the little boy was delighted to be given all to himself, Ian waited until everyone got settled on the bed and Izzie pulled in a chair from her room.
He began to read, then passed the book to Izzie, who then, a few pages later, passed the book to Prim. As he listened, the thought struck him that the enjoyment he was experiencing in the moment was a direct result of feeling he was a part of a family.
The children were certainly not his, nor was Izzie, but they’d all somehow managed to form a closeness with one another, something he was rather convinced he didn’t want to let go or . . .
The sound of frantic barking pulled him from his thoughts before he rushed out of the room, Izzie at his heels, calling to the children to stay put as she ran.
The smell of smoke suddenly reached his nose, and with horror coursing through him, he ran through the back door, increasing his pace when he saw that the barn was on fire.
Three hours later, covered in soot and ash, and with the heat from the smoldering remains of what had been the barn laying heavy in the air, Ian stood with Izzie, who was drenched in soot as well, her plain gray dress covered in scorch marks and water from the many buckets she’d lugged from the pump to the barn.
The fire had been too intense to save the barn, but they’d been able to stop it from spreading over the lawn and to the farmhouse by dousing the area in front of the barn with water, which had kept the fire contained.
Through the grace of God, they’d saved every animal, all because some of the men who’d taken it upon themselves to do one last patrol around the farm had apparently stopped at some point to enjoy the night skies. That convenient circumstance had them close enough to provide invaluable help before the fire got out of control.
Most of the animals had been taken to the front of the farmhouse, the chickens corralled on the front porch, watched over by Henry, Prim, and Violet, Daisy having fallen asleep on Aunt Birdie’s lap an hour before. The goats, pigs, and workhorses were roaming around the lawn, Uncle Amos keeping a sharp eye on them, aided by Buttercup and Sparky, who kept circling the lawn, mooing and barking respectively, if any animal seemed about to stray.
Uncle Amos was looking every one of his eighty years, his face drawn and his shoulders stooped as he shuffled among his animals, muttering time after time that he couldn’t understand how the barn had caught fire, and also muttering that he was certain he’d not left a lamp or a candle behind after he’d checked the animals before repairing for the evening.
That his uncle was so distraught had temper boiling through Ian’s veins, and as he looked at the charred remains of the barn, he vowed that no matter what it took, he would find out who was behind what was obviously arson, and they would be held responsible.
“I think we found the source, Ian,” Stanley Huxman said, holding something gingerly in his hand with an old rag. He held it up. “It’s a lantern.” He caught Ian’s eye. “You think Amos could have left it behind?”
“Uncle Amos was carrying a lantern when he came into the house after he’d checked the animals,” Izzie said, speaking up as she dashed what was left of her pink scarf over her face, smearing the soot in the process. “It wasn’t his fault, and if anyone doubts me, go look on the kitchen sink. I know you’ll find the lantern he was using there.”
Ian took hold of her hand. “I don’t doubt you, Izzie. There’ve been too many mishaps to believe this was simply another case of Uncle Amos and his faltering memory. I’m convinced there’s something else in play at Glory Manor.”
As Stanley, Guy Wilt, Jack Evans, and Jonas Black, the owner of the farm directly adjacent to Glory Manor, took that moment to join them, Jonas shook his head.
“If that’s true, someone’s evidently turned desperate in their attempt to drive you from the farm.”
“Which means they’ve also turned dangerous,” Ian said, drawing in a breath in the hope of dispelling some of his temper. He caught Izzie’s eye. “There’s every reason to fear that there will be another attack, and I’m convinced that this next one could turn deadly. It’s no longer safe at Glory Manor. We have no choice but to get everyone away, which means we’re going to have to get everyone to my house in Shadyside, and . . . we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
Chapter 27
Sitting on top of an old trunk Ian had fetched for her before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, Isadora bounced a time or two, snapping the latch into place when the lid finally closed all the way.
Nodding to Duncan Bowman, one of the two recent hires at Glory Manor, she slipped from the trunk, watching as Duncan, along with Earl Henderson, the other man recently hired, hefted the trunk from the nursery.
Smoothing back hair that had escaped from its pins hours before, Isadora made her way to the kitchen, nodding to the women bustling around and making breakfast for the men who’d arrived in droves at Glory Manor once word had gotten out there was trouble.
“Izzie, there you are, my dear,” Aunt Birdie said from the kitchen table, her face drawn. “There’s fresh coffee.”
Accepting the cup Maggie handed her, Isadora looked out the window, spotting Ian standing off by himself, Sparky on one side of him, Buttercup on the other. “I imagine Ian needs this more than I do,” she said, walking to the door.
Shivering ever so slightly in the cool morning air, she walked over to join him, unsurprised when she reached him and saw what amounted to nothing less than fury in his eyes.
It was easy to forget he was a dangerous man at times, given his usual charming nature, but seeing him now, with eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, there was no question that danger lurked beneath the charm, and th
at danger, she was all but convinced, was remarkably close to being unleashed.
Handing him the coffee, she turned to look at the remains of the barn.
“This could have been so much worse,” Ian said, taking a sip of the coffee.
“You’re right, especially if you consider all the supposed accidents that happened leading up to the fire.” She turned back to him. “Do you have any idea who might be behind this besides Hank? He didn’t strike me as the master manipulator type.”
“I didn’t get that impression of him either, which is why I don’t believe Hank’s the main culprit. He’s been hired by someone, and believe me, I’ll find that someone and there will be repercussions.”
Isadora didn’t doubt that for a second, but she couldn’t pity whoever was responsible for the many accidents and other mysteries that had been happening on the farm. That person or persons, without a thought to the lives they’d put in jeopardy, had burned down a barn with innocent animals trapped inside, evidently not caring that the farmhouse could have caught fire too.
Ian raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. “Is everyone packed and ready to go?”
“They are. The children are having breakfast with Miss Olive, as they’ve decided to call her, but their belongings are packed and they, being children, don’t seem overly traumatized by being uprooted again. Henry believes it’ll be a grand adventure, and they’re all looking forward to riding on the train, which was the only thing they enjoyed, according to Henry, when they were first taken out of Pittsburgh.”
“And Olive’s agreed to travel with us to Pittsburgh to help out with the children?”
Isadora smiled. “She has, proclaiming it will be a grand adventure for her as well, and . . . I believe she’s been given strict instructions from all the women in town to send back a detailed report of that house of yours in Shadyside.”
Ian, surprisingly enough, returned the smile. “She’s not going to have much to report. There’s relatively little furniture in the house, and most of the rooms have yet to be painted.”
“Which means I’ll need to brush up on my flower-painting skills.”
“Aunt Birdie told me you’ve been banned from painting flowers on the walls after you showed her an example of what you wanted to paint in her sitting room and she decided it was . . .”
“Awful,” Isadora finished for him with a grin before she released a dramatic sigh. “It’s amazing how many things I’ve been banned from doing lately.” She held up a hand and began ticking the items off on her fingers. “I’m banned from painting flowers, operating the stove, using an iron, and, well, I could go on and on, but it’s somewhat depressing now that I think of all my clear deficiencies.”
“You’re very good with organization,” Ian said, reaching out to take hold of her hand, which immediately set her knees to wobbling. “I’m amazed you’ve been able to get us packed so quickly, and for that, I thank you.” He leaned closer. “Seems I might have been wrong about The Taming of the Shrew business after all.”
She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t. I’ve accepted the unpleasant idea that I’m a somewhat demanding woman, but I do think I’ve changed since my stay at Glory Manor. However, we certainly don’t have time to discuss that right now. The household, as I already mentioned, is packed and ready to go, so all that remains now is to get everyone to the train station.”
“I still need to finish helping Jack Evans load up all the animals before we repair to the station. He certainly put Uncle Amos’s mind to rest by insisting he take the animals to his livery stable. They’ll be safe there because Jack employs those very large men he brought with him this morning. They don’t take kindly to the fact that someone tried to harm the animals, so they’ll keep a close watch on them and make certain their needs are met.”
“But they’re not takin’ Buttercup with them, are they?”
Turning, Isadora found Henry and Violet hurrying to join them, Henry’s eyes wide as he stepped beside Buttercup and placed his small hand on her neck.
“I don’t think she wants to come with us,” Ian said slowly, even as Buttercup let out a mournful moo, Henry’s eyes filled with tears, and Violet’s lip began to tremble.
Two hours later, Isadora found herself swallowing another laugh, the urge hitting her every time her gaze settled on Buttercup standing in the middle of the aisle and Sparky sitting directly in front of her. Both animals seemed absolutely delighted they’d not been left behind and were enjoying a ride on a train, in a private Pullman car no less, on their way to Pittsburgh.
The children were pressed up against the window, playing a game Miss Olive had suggested that involved finding particular items, such as birds or cows, which hadn’t worked very well since they’d all turned and pointed out Buttercup, or telegram poles.
“I have no idea why I agreed to let Buttercup join us,” Ian said, eyeing the cow in question.
“Henry and Violet brought out the tears.” Isadora shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re in for a rough time of it now. I have to imagine once the children discover our weaknesses, they’ll exploit them often.” She glanced toward the children again, frowning when she noticed that the bag Henry was holding on his lap seemed to be moving. “Excuse me.” She stood up and walked to stand beside Henry. “What’s that you have in your bag, darling?”
Guilt immediately flickered through Henry’s eyes. “Nothin’.”
She held out her hand. “Hand it over.”
“Are you goin’ to be cross with me if I tell you Elmer might be in the bag?”
Isadora narrowed her eyes. “More along the lines of horrified, but why in the world would you have brought Elmer with you? She would have been fine going off with the rest of the chickens, enjoying a nice holiday in Canonsburg.”
Henry shook his head. “I found her trying to sneak into the house. That means she didn’t want to be left behind.”
“Did you ever think she was sneaking into the house because she’d not finished pecking my legs to her satisfaction?”
Henry’s lips began to tremble as he opened the bag, pulled out a very ruffled-looking Elmer, and hugged her to him. “Does that mean you’re gonna make me send her back?”
Looking at the trembling lip, then to the chicken already snuggling up against Henry, Isadora threw up her hands. “Fine. She can stay.” Turning, she marched back to her seat, ignoring the telling grin Ian sent her.
After the train pulled into the station and Isadora had herded the children, with the help of Miss Olive, into one of the carriages Ian hired, and then got everyone else settled into their respective rented carriages, a sense of anticipation began to brew.
“How far to your house, Ian?” Prim asked, scooting over on the seat when Ian climbed into their carriage, saying they could get on their way because he, along with Duncan and Earl, had finally gotten Buttercup into a wagon. Sparky had apparently chosen to ride in the wagon with Buttercup, lying down right beside the cow and refusing to budge.
“It won’t be long, children,” Ian said. “Shadyside is on the east side of Pittsburgh, well away from the industrial district.” He gestured to the window. “Our progress might be a little delayed because the smog seems unusually thick today. But no need to worry our driver will lose his way. He probably has the streets memorized.”
Peering out the window, Isadora frowned at the blanket of black swirling around the carriage and making it all but impossible to see the buildings surrounding the depot. “Is it always like this in Pittsburgh?”
“Sometimes it’s worse,” Prim said. “’Specially down by the factories where we used to live.”
“It can seem like night all the time down there,” Ian said, leaning back on the carriage seat. “There are so many mills operating twenty-four hours a day that smoke is constantly being pumped into the air, covering the city in ash.” He smiled. “That’s why I chose to build my house in Shadyside. We still get smog if the wind is blowing in our direction, but it doesn’t com
pletely block out the sun.”
As the carriage rumbled down the streets, the children peppered Ian with questions about the city, pointing to buildings that would mysteriously appear out of the smog.
Thirty minutes later, they’d left the smog behind, rolling through well-tended neighborhoods, the houses becoming larger and larger.
“And this, children, is Fifth Avenue,” Ian said, gesturing out the window. “We’re almost there.”
Taking in the sight of stately mansions as the carriage trundled down a well-maintained road, Isadora began to get the sense that Ian was a far more successful businessman than she’d been led to believe.
She’d gotten the distinct impression that he was a man of means, but she’d not been expecting to discover he truly had enough means to build a house that rivaled some of the houses built on her Fifth Avenue in New York City.
Pressing her nose against the window as the carriage turned and began rolling up a stone drive, she sucked in a sharp breath as she caught her first sight of Ian’s massive home.
It was built in a Jacobean Revival style, mixed with a bit of Romanesque design, if she wasn’t mistaken. Three stories tall, with a porch surrounded by an intricately carved railing, it all but screamed extravagance. She turned to Ian and narrowed her eyes.
“It’s fortunate I was told by many of the Canonsburg ladies to expect something along the lines of impressive. However, I don’t believe impressive does your house justice. It’s more along the lines of imposing grandeur.”
Ian blinked innocent eyes back at her. “I suppose it might be a bit imposing, but do you like it?”
She turned back to the window, smiling when she noticed that the children were pressed up against their window with their mouths agape. “It’s lovely, and I must admit I’m now anxious to see what the inside holds.”
“You’re bound to be disappointed, then. It’s so empty that voices tend to echo in almost every room.”
“We get to live . . . here?” Prim suddenly asked, looking at Ian, who was now reaching for the door because the carriage had stopped directly in front of the house.
