Copyright © 2002 by Cindy Holby
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Dedication
For all my boys.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Bill and Linda. You made a difference in my life.
My family, you are the best support group in the world.
Rob, Josh, Drew, Justin, Mike, Gib, Chris, Travis and Jake, you never doubted.
Christine Anderson, Mike and Debbie Shea, Christine Zdon and Karen Tally, thank you for the encouragement. I could not have done it without you.
Wilson Smith for the story of Good King Wenceslas and everyone at RHMC.
Part One
Western Virginia
1838
Chapter One
Ian Duncan was hot and thirsty, and he had a feeling his horse was too. He turned the tall gray from the track and headed down the bank to the wide expanse of the Kanawha River. While the stallion buried his muzzle in the cool water, Ian took the canteen from the horn of his saddle and refreshed himself with water taken earlier that day from a spring he had passed. He took a kerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. Then deciding he needed to do a better job of it, he bent down to dip it in the water and bathed his face and neck. He combed his thick, straight, russet-colored hair back from his forehead with his long, lean fingers and swore to himself that the next time it flopped over into his eyes he would cut it all off.
But Faith had said she loved his hair. He closed his eyes and remembered the soft touch of her slender hand as it smoothed the rebellious locks back. He shook his head to clear away the thoughts of her that threatened to run rampant in his mind and busied himself with checking the girth on the saddle. He turned his darkly lashed sapphire-blue eyes to the canopy of branches overhead. The midday sun tried to burn through, but luckily failed to find the way down to the track. The weather was hot enough without the sun adding to the discomfort. Ian had just passed through Charleston and was anxious to press on; his goal was Point Pleasant by nightfall, and he was determined to make it.
“I can’t wait to hear what Faith has to say about you,” he said to the gray as they once again headed west towards Ohio. “She has always had an eye for a fine horse, and you definitely fit the bill.” The gray responded by flicking his ears and nodding his head up and down in agreement. Ian chuckled and rubbed the fine arched neck of the thoroughbred. He had raised the horse himself and swore to everyone that the two of them could understand each other.
Though he had had the pleasure of the gray’s company since the day he was foaled, Ian had just recently come into legal possession of the fine animal. His former employer had left the stallion to Ian in his will in gratitude for twelve years of service in his stables. Ian had a gift with horses and an eye for lines and breeding. His employer’s stables and reputation for fine quality horses had grown in the time Ian had spent with him. The man had given him a home in the stables at the age of thirteen when Ian’s parents had died; Ian gave him all the knowledge of horses that had been passed down from Duncan father to Duncan son since the first one came from Scotland as a bondsman some hundred years earlier.
Now, at last, it was time for a Duncan to use his knowledge for his own profit. Each generation had worked his magic for another. Each generation had dreamed of breeding his own horses in his own way on his own land. Finally, Ian had the opportunity to fulfill the dreams of his father and his father’s father and each one before. He had beneath him a fine stud to sire many a fine foal. In his boot he had 500 dollars that he had won racing the gray. Before him was the West, with land aplenty for anyone who wanted to take on the risks. All he needed now was Faith.
His mind wandered back to the last time he had seen her. They were in the barn behind her father’s house. Her sky-blue eyes were full of tears as her father berated him. She was not permitted to see Ian, her father had shouted; he hadn’t invested all his time and money raising her just to see her married off to some stable hand. He had higher aspirations for her future, and Ian was not part of them. “More like he wants to sell her to the highest bidder,” Ian said to the gray. Her father’s words still bothered him because not once had he mentioned Faith’s happiness, just his own ambitions for Faith to make a good marriage.
“If only she’d come with me that day,” Ian said to himself, not for the first time. The gray shook his head again as if to agree that life would be sweet if only Faith were with them. Ian grinned. “Soon enough she’ll be admiring your fine form. Let’s pick up the pace a bit so she doesn’t have to wait.” The gray obliged by moving into a slow canter on the well-traveled road. Ian noticed the leaves moving a bit and felt sure there would be rain soon. He began to whistle a familiar tune, and the gray flicked his ears in response to the music. Ian was sure he would reach Point Pleasant by nightfall.
Faith lifted the mass of silvery blonde hair from her slender neck in hopes that some stray breeze would cool her. The air was heavy and still, the humidity weighing down on her like a woolen blanket. She felt as if she were about to suffocate. She glanced over at her stepmother, Miriam, who was engrossed with several stacks of papers at the desk. She looked as fresh as the morning in her high-necked, long-sleeved gown, her only sign of discomfort a slight tic at the corner of her mouth. It seemed to coincide with the movement of papers from stack to stack.
How can she stay so cool and calm? Faith thought to herself. At this point in time, all she could think about was running down to the Ohio River and throwing herself into the churning waters to escape the heat, and to escape the wedding that was to be held on the morrow. A slight movement at the window caught her eye, and she rose as if in a trance from the straight-backed chair that had been her prison for most of the day. The sewing that had occupied her slid unheeded to the floor, and she nearly stepped on the heap of white satin and lace as she moved to the window. Her eyes, usually the color of a summer sky, seemed pale and lifeless as she stared at the small stirring of leaves on the oak tree at the northeastern side of the house. The leaves were calling her, they were calling his name. “Ian,” they sighed. “Ian.” The lace curtains of the window fluttered so lightly that she would have missed the movement if her attention had not been focused on the window.
“Faith, what ever are you doing? You’re going to ruin your dress,” Miriam scolded. Faith didn’t answer, just kept her eyes on the dancing leaves of the tree. All at once the movement stopped, and she leaned her forehead against the pane of glass, hoping it would help to cool her feverish brow. She closed her eyes and saw hair the color of copper falling over eyes so blue she could drown in them. “Faith, come away from there. You’re going to smudge the window, and it will have to be cleaned again.”
“I thought perhaps it might rain,” Faith said as she turned away from the window, from the flash of a smile in a sun-bronzed face. Why, oh why didn’t I go with him?she wondered to herself. She knew the reason why, but now she thought there might have been a way.
Miriam gave her a pensive look. The chit’s attitude would really need improving before tomorrow. She made a mental note to have her husband talk to the girl. There was too much at stake for the event to be ruined by an apathetic bride. Perhaps there was a tonic they could give her to lighten her mood. The girl’s gloomy manner was too obvious to be put down to nerves.
“It wouldn’t dare rain on the event of the season,” Miriam assured her as she rose from her desk and gathered the dress up from the floor. “Now come and finish this hem.
We must get your dress done before dinner.”
Faith wearily returned to her chair and searched the hem of the dress for the last stitch she had placed. She rubbed the back of her hand against her damp forehead and wiped the moisture on the side of her skirt. She knew she couldn’t take another stitch if her life depended on it.
“Miriam, I need to go lie down for a while. I’ll finish this later, when it’s cooler.” Before Miriam could voice a protest, Faith was out the door and fleeing up the stairs to her room.
A slight tic twitched the corner of Miriam’s mouth as she contemplated the chores remaining to be done. Having Faith make her own wedding dress had been one way to cut costs. And cost was definitely an issue, even when one was putting on the wedding of the year. Perhaps it would rain, and some of the guests would be deterred, cutting the expense some more. The whole event had been funded with credit extended on the expectations of Faith marrying the richest bachelor on this side of the Ohio. Randolph Mason was a good catch, she thought to herself. If she had been a few years younger, and a bit prettier, she would have considered going after him herself. After all, Faith didn’t have the good sense to appreciate the wealth and prestige she was about to command. As for herself, she had settled for Faith’s father, the owner of the local mercantile, who had brought a load of debt to their marriage.
Of course she hadn’t known about that until well after the event. Ironically, she had married him for money and he had married her for the same reason. “I guess we had more in common that I realized,” she remarked to no one in particular.
As soon as Faith reached the landing in the stairs, she knew she had made a mistake. The temperature upstairs seemed at least ten degrees higher than in the drawing room. She fled into her room before Miriam had a chance to call after her and hastily shed the skirt and blouse that were plastered to her skin. The windows were open to catch any breath of air and she stood between them to see if it was cooler there. She might as well have stood in an oven, she decided. A tepid pitcher of water was on the washstand, so she poured some in the bowl to splash on her face. Her camisole and pantalets clung to her skin, and she plucked the offending fabric away as best she could. She wrung out a cloth and wiped around her neck and down her arms, and felt a tiny bit of relief.
At the foot of her bed was a patchwork quilt that had belonged to her mother. It was a double wedding ring design, pieced in shades of blue with just a touch of pink. Her mother had made it in anticipation of her own wedding, and it was Faith’s most treasured possession. She smoothed it on top of her bedspread and lay on top of it, face down. She pulled her hair back off her neck and pulled a corner of the quilt up under her arm, as she would a doll to comfort her. The quilt, a family Bible and some memories were all she had left of her mother. Jenny Taylor had died five years ago, right after Faith’s fifteenth birthday. She closed her eyes to summon her mother’s dear face. Most of Faith’s memories were of a sad woman, one who did all the proper things that the wife of an upstanding citizen was supposed to do. She obeyed her husband and made sure that life was peaceful at all times. For the life of her, Faith could not imagine where her own restless spirit had come from. She felt as if all she wanted to do was rebel. She could not believe that she would be able to live the life her mother had lived, not even if she was married to the richest man in this part of Virginia. Faith pulled the quilt up closer and brought to mind the last happy time she had spent with her mother. Her mother was helping her dress for a wedding they were to attend. Faith was sitting on a chair in her mother’s room while her mother brushed her hair.
“Momma, how do you know you want to get married?”
“You just do, my darling girl.” Her mother continued brushing Faith’s silvery blond hair. “When you meet the man you love, you’ll know.”
“How will I know if I love a man?” Faith asked, turning her head slightly to see her mother’s response. Her mother put her hand on the back of Faith’s head to straighten it and busied herself with tying a blue ribbon. “Momma?”
Her mother came around to the front of the chair and knelt in front of Faith. She gathered the girl’s slender hands in her own and caressed the pale skin that so resembled hers. She looked up into her daughter’s face and saw there all the hopes and dreams that she had lost. “Faith, you will have lots of men courting you, and they will make all kinds of promises, but when you meet the man you love, the man you should marry, you will know by his kiss that he is the one.”
Faith made a face at the thought of kissing any man. Her mother reached her hand up to stroke the skin of her porcelain cheek. “My darling girl, when the man you love kisses you, you will feel it down in your very soul, and you will know he is the one.”
“What will it feel like in my soul?” Faith asked, her curiosity awakened. Her mother got a faraway look in her pale blue eyes, and a smile came over her face. “Your toes will curl,” she said with a soft smile.
Faith looked at her mother as if she had lost her mind, then shelooked down at her own toes, encased in a pair of blue satin shoes. Her mother’s laughter bubbled up, and Faith put her hands over her mouth. She had never heard her mother laugh before, at least not like this, not with spontaneity and spirit. Her mother pulled her close and hugged her. Then her laughter was gone, as fast as it had come. “Faith, when you find the man you love, don’t ever let him go. Promise me.”
Faith wondered why her mother sounded so desperate. “I promise, Momma.”
Six weeks later her mother was dead from a fall down the back stairs. Faith tried as hard as she could to imagine what it was like to feel a kiss in her soul, but as she had never seen her parents kiss at all, she had no reference to go by.
That all changed five years later when she met Ian Duncan. She had been walking to her father’s mercantile to pick up a few items when she first saw him. He was riding down the road on the back of a tall chestnut and leading a group of fine mares. He had caught her attention because he was whistling “Good King Wenceslas” and Christmas was still quite a few weeks away. The mares were beautiful, with gleaming coats and fine lines, and were only outmatched by the chestnut, which seemed determined to break into a trot. The hands on the reins were steady, however, and the chestnut did as he was told. She stood at the side of the road to admire the animals, her hand shielding her eyes from the morning sun, as the chestnut stopped before her. The rider pulled his hat off, pushed a handful of copper hair back off his forehead and flashed a cocky grin at her.
“Excuse me, miss, but I am looking for the Mason estate,” he said, his voice deep and strong. Faith took a step to the right so that the sun was behind his body and found herself looking up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. A moment passed while she seemed to consider his question, and she realized that she was grinning right back at him.
“Follow the river road; it’s around five miles north of here, on the right. You can’t miss it; it’s the biggest house around,” she finally managed to say. The hair had fallen back over his eyes and he pushed it away again before he clamped his hat down firmly to keep the hair in place.
“Thank you, Miss ...” he said, the inquiry plain on his face.
“Taylor. Faith Taylor. My father owns the mercantile,” she replied and wondered why she couldn’t seem to control the stupid grin that had taken over her face.
“Ian Duncan at your service, Miss Taylor. I’m here to help the Masons develop their breeding stock.” He motioned to the string of horses waiting behind him. “These are some of the best that Richmond has to offer.”
Faith took a step towards the group. “They’re beautiful. May I?” she asked, holding her hand out to indicate she would like to take a closer look.
“Go ahead, they’re tame. I raised them myself.” Faith heard the pride in his voice as she reached out to stroke the neck of the fine-boned bay mare that had stepped up next to her. The soft brown eyes were full of intelligence, and she noticed the ears were turned towards the man in the saddle as he spoke. �
��Do you ride, Miss Taylor?”
“Yes, I love to, although I don’t have a riding horse. I’m afraid my father travels strictly by carriage.”
“Tis a shame. This one would be perfect for you.”
“Yes, she would,” Faith replied as she stroked the velvety nose. The mare made soft whuffing sounds and nudged Faith’s hand when she stopped. Ian laughed at the mare’s antics, and Faith looked up at him. She realized that she didn’t hear laughter enough and his was wonderful. It made her want to laugh, too, and she didn’t know why. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if they were flushed. The mare was shaking her head up and down, and Faith took a step back. For the life of her, she didn’t know what she should say next and realized that she was perfectly content to stand there in the road talking to a stranger about breeding horses. He must think her an absolute wanton. Meanwhile, he was still looking down on her with that cocky grin on his face. Faith struggled to get her own face under control. She stepped back and shielded her eyes again. “It shouldn’t take you long to find the place.”
“It sounds easy enough.” He tipped his hat and gathered the reins. “I’ll be staying at their place for the next few months; perhaps I’ll see you again.”
“It’s a small town, Mr. Duncan, I’m sure we will run into each other.”
“I’m sure we shall.” He made a slight motion with his knees, and the chestnut started up the road. Faith stood watching his progress, and he turned around and gave her a wave. The whistling started again, and Faith softly hummed the tune along with him. She watched until he disappeared around a bend in the road.
Chapter Two
Faith rolled up on her side, her hand still clutching a comer of the quilt. The frown that had creased her face was gone, replaced by a peaceful smile. She was drifting into sleep, images of Ian flashing through her mind.
Chase the Wind Page 1
