Songs of the Shenandoah

by Michael K. Reynolds

  Clare had misjudged the woman and instantly felt bonded to their shared mission. “She is a beautiful young lady, your Grace. You’ve both done admirably in raising her.”

  “We’ve had our brushes as well due to the financial crash.” Andrew tossed a log in the fire, which was struggling to keep the room warm. He dusted his hands and stood. “You are not alone with that one. Devastated not only our newspaper, but nearly wiped out Clare’s favorite paper supplier.”

  Clare snorted. “Oh, Andrew. You are a terrible tease.” She looked to her brother and Ashlyn. “He is referring to a certain fondness I have for Cyrus Field.”

  Seamus snapped his fingers. “Isn’t that . . . man . . . who—?”

  “Yes,” Clare answered. “The bedlamite, as he has been referred to as well as many other unmentionable slanders. His dream is to lay working telegraph wire from Ireland to Newfoundland.”

  Andrew leaned against the mantelpiece. “If it wasn’t for Clare’s stories in the Daily urging the poor fellow on with such pomp and bravado about the ‘most noble pursuit of the nineteenth century,’ I’m sure he would have long ago returned to his proper place in the world of reducing trees to paper.”

  “As you can see, my husband chooses to join in the easy sport of mocking dear Mr. Field. But one day, Cyrus and I will have our say.”

  A large clattering sounded behind them in the room and they stood up startled with a few gasps.

  “What’s that?” Caitlin said. “A thief on Christmas Eve?”

  The noise came from the window at the rear of the room. Andrew lifted the poker from the fireplace and held it out before him and stepped forward in the dim lighting.

  Chapter 3

  The Breeze in the Room

  With a clatter, the window thrust open, accompanied by a cool gust of whistling air.

  First, a tall black hat with brown curls spilling around the brim emerged, then the face of a young man with a tightly cropped brown beard and sharp features.

  Andrew raised his arm with his weapon poised. But unknowingly, the intruder continued to awkwardly climb his way through the opening, snow flurrying around him.

  Seamus had moved over to Andrew and eased down the weapon. With a barker’s voice Seamus spoke. “May I introduce to you, kind gentleman and ladies, the distinguished gold prospector Master Davin Hanley.”

  Now fully entered, Davin slammed the window shut behind him, closing out the wind’s howl, and spun with eloquence, revealing an exquisitely tailored lavender jacket with long, swooping tails. He lifted his hat and leaned down into a deep bow, to what now were stares from the numbed assembly.

  “What?” He flashed a puckish grin and looked back at the window. “That was always my preferred way of coming inside this house.”

  Clare, who had seen some pictures of Davin through the years, still was amazed at what few semblances remained of the gentle-spirited, frog-chasing boy who lived here eleven years ago. Instead, before them stood a man, distinguished in his stature and grooming, his brown eyes glistening with confidence.

  Davin clapped his tall black boots together to free the clumps of snow and patted away the frozen dust from his clothing. He stepped forward and kissed Clare on the cheek and held her tightly. “Now, now, sister Clare. You knew I would come home, didn’t you?”

  Clare couldn’t hold back the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks and onto his. He was so strong in her arms. “If you had any idea of the suffering you put me through, young man.” When he had left home at the age of eleven to seek out Seamus in San Francisco, Davin left no note of his whereabouts. For a long time Clare had believed him lost.

  Finally she stepped back and laughed, wiping the tears. Caitlin and the others took turns exchanging hugs and handshakes. During this moment of festive greeting, Clare happened a glance at Muriel. The young woman observed Davin with tender fascination. Clare’s heart went out to the girl as she was as plain looking as she was kind.

  Andrew drew a chair close to the fire and motioned for Davin to sit.

  “May I put together a plate of food for you?” Muriel asked.

  “Oh?” Davin said. “Is that not Cassie’s job?”

  Caitlin dragged a chair close to her younger brother. “Cassie hasn’t worked here for several years. She’s married to Reverend Bridges, who is pastor of one of the largest black churches in Manhattan.”

  “Ah, I see.” He glanced dispassionately at Muriel. “Is this the new girl?”

  Andrew had come alongside Muriel. “This . . . new girl is studying to become a doctor.” He nodded to her. “You sit yourself down. I’ll get Davin some food.”

  Davin patted his stomach. “Much appreciated.” He watched Andrew walk away and then turned his gaze back to Muriel. “He did mean nurse, right?”

  Muriel’s expression transformed from admiration to resentment. Davin had ignited a spark they had yet to see burn in their boarder. Before the girl could respond, Clare spoke. “So Davin, tell us of your grand adventures out West. Don’t leave out the smallest of details. We want to know all about your gold discovery.”

  Davin rubbed his hands together. “Yes. I suppose you would.”

  “Have you left any in California?” Caitlin prodded. “Or did you take it all?”

  “Most.” He removed his hat, set it on the floor beside him, and eyed his rapt audience. “All right if you must know.” He crossed his arms. “It all started on Ashlyn’s claim. Well, actually her father’s.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.” Clare looked to Ashlyn who shifted in her seat.

  “That mine unfortunately didn’t have much life in her once we got there.” Davin leaned back in the chair. “We pulled maybe enough to purchase our next claim. And then the next one after that. Of course, I didn’t have much need of money when I was young. It was all entertainment. Enough to keep fed and help a few out along the way.” He gave Seamus a glance.

  “But then a few years ago, I met up with my partners. My friend Tristan Lowery—”

  “Of the Lowery family, here in New York?” Clare asked with surprise. “I heard they made a fortune in gold. I was unaware you were connected with them.”

  Andrew returned with a plate of food, which was both overflowing and hastily put together.

  “Yes.” Davin looked over the food carefully, then picked up a fork and poked it into a large pile of potatoes. “The Lowerys wanted in the game, had cash in their fists, but they needed someone with dirt in his boots and I was their man. Quite fortunate, I must say. Happened to be standing there.” He swallowed the forkful of potatoes and then lifted a turkey leg to his mouth.

  Caitlin beamed at her brother. “So what did they do? Buy you more shovels?”

  “Hydraulic mining.” They all turned in surprise to see the answer had come from Muriel.

  Davin shook his turkey leg at her and grinned. “Well done, Doctor.” He took another bite.

  “What . . . is—?” Caitlin laughed, almost as if to break the sudden tension.

  “They use large water cannons to clear out whole mountains to get to the gold.” Muriel’s gaze locked on to Davin with the focus a predator would give prey. “Did they chase you out?”

  “Not hardly.” Davin narrowed his eyes at her, then he smiled. “Although we did get most of the gold in California. Which is what brings me here.” He rested the half-eaten leg on the plate and picked up the fork again. “And I am sorry, dear sister, for my delay in arriving tonight, but I had to console poor Tristan. I owed that to him.”

  Andrew lifted a pitcher of water off of the table and filled a glass and handed it Davin. “I wasn’t aware of any suffering with the Lowerys. Has there been a death?”

  Clare knew of Andrew’s distaste for the family, one of the wealthiest in all of Manhattan. Was there a touch of envy in her husband for their rise to prominence at the same time the Royce’s were descend
ing from theirs?

  “Worse.” Davin took a large gulp from the glass and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “We moved nearly all of our investments out of gold and into cotton several months ago, apparently with ill timing.”

  “Only to hear now that South Carolina has pulled out of the Union.” Andrew sat back down next to Clare.

  “Mr. Lincoln is going to set all of that straight,” Caitlin said.

  Clare took it upon herself to avert a conversation of politics on such a day as this. “Well, all I can say is it is an answer to our deepest prayers that you are all here and safe and we are together again. Despite these worrying days.” She looked to Seamus and Ashlyn. “And you, of course, must know you are most welcome to stay here as long as you want until you have a chance to settle down.”

  Seamus’s expression sank. He gazed at Ashlyn. “We’ll be here in the city for just a few more days.”

  Clare’s stomach roiled. What other bitter surprises would these evening hold? “What is this?”

  Seamus spoke with tones of apology. “It was our intention to tarry a wee bit here in New York. But. With the way the news is shaping, we’d best be moving before things get thicker.”

  “Where to?” Caitlin’s voice wavered.

  Seamus folded his hands and leaned forward. “Ashlyn learned word a few months back that her uncle had passed on, which means her father’s Whittington farm has returned to her name. Our name.”

  Ashlyn’s face beamed. “It’s quite lovely. In the Shenandoah Valley. It’s very good farmland.”

  “Virginia?” Caitlin said the word with a hint of contempt. “A plantation?”

  “It was . . . years back. But not now.” Seamus put his arm around his wife. “This dear lady has supported me through all of my mad pursuits. It’s an honor and blessing for me to return her and Grace home.” He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Besides, I’m looking forward to using these soft hands again.”

  Clare tried to laugh but the news was still stinging. “My brother Seamus. Returning to farm life?”

  “No potatoes.” Seamus turned to Ashlyn. “Right?”

  Ashlyn whispered, “No potatoes.”

  They sat there together in silence as the sound of the fire crackled in the background.

  Clare struggled to hold back her disappointment in what had become of this night, the one she had waited for so long. She was grateful for Andrew’s touch as he put his arm around her shoulders.

  As she glanced around at her brothers and sister, aware of the times they were facing in this country they had adopted as their own, a question pressed upon her.

  Was there anything she could do to keep them all safe? All together?

  She shuddered and wrapped her arms tightly to fend off the chill in the room.

  Chapter 4

  Whittington Farms

  Taylorsville, Virginia

  January 1861

  “Oh, Seamus, it’s even more beautiful than I ever remembered!” Ashlyn’s face glowed as she stared at the unraveling splendor of the Shenandoah Valley farmland and their carriage rattled down the country road with the Massanutten Mountains rising in the background.

  For Seamus, there was little beauty in the weather they had endured during their travels to this western range of Virginia. Not only did they face delays caused by snow and icy conditions, but they suffered contempt as well in the stares and treatment they received on their way down South.

  On more than a few occasions, their intentions and allegiances were questioned and their carriage even was pelted by rocks. There was a palpable sense of encroaching war and a rising hatred among the people.

  It was a strange sensation for Seamus to actually feel relieved to be arriving in Ashlyn’s hometown, and he shared in her joy in beginning this new stage of their lives. Yet when he first crossed the borders of Maryland and passed through large fields of laboring black slaves, he felt an uncomfortable finality about his decision to bring his family here.

  But there was an undeniable pleasure as well in seeing his wife’s spirits rise with each approaching mile. She had endured so much the past few years in faithful support of his meanderings, so he now felt as if a great debt was being lifted from his shoulders.

  Ashlyn rose from the leather seat of the coach, pulled down the window, and leaned her face out in the cool air. “Here, Grace. Come here.”

  The teenager pleaded with her eyes to Seamus. “Ma. Are you going to show me some more trees?”

  Her mother was unaffected by Grace’s insolence. “That little building there is where I used to go to school. Oh, how wondrous! Seamus we are so close.” She leaned back in and kissed him on the cheek. “I had no idea how much I missed this place. How it was in my blood.”

  Grace dragged herself up and peered outside. “Look at all those horses. They are so lovely. Will we have one?”

  “Of course, we’ll get you a horse,” Seamus said.

  Ashlyn came and sat next to Seamus, her long auburn curls draping his shoulder. “It’s cruel to get her hopes up like that.”

  Seamus combed his fingers through her hair. “She had to leave all of her friends. I think it would be proper for a Southern lady to have a horse.”

  “Yes, Ma. A horse for all of my friends. Sounds like a decent trade.” Grace flashed a grin. “Besides, Da can always steal it.”

  Ashlyn slapped Seamus on the arm. “See what happens when you tell your daughter such fanciful stories?” She rested her head against him. “Really, we have so little to live on. We’ll need seed. We must be prudent.”

  “It will be all right,” Seamus said. “We’ll just ask Grace’s Uncle Davin for another nugget or two.”

  “Wasn’t it my grandfather’s gold mine anyway?” Grace left the window and plopped into the seat facing them.

  Seamus eyed the girl who he had raised as his own since she was two years old. With her long curls and smooth skin she looked so much like her mother, only younger, with emerald eyes and light brown hair. Did Grace ever ponder about how little she looked like him? She was so clever. Did she know?

  Ashlyn crossed her arms. “Your grandfather deeded the mine to your cousin Cade. He was quite generous in what he intended for us to have.”

  “Yes. I know. I heard the story. Our share of gold sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”

  Seamus laughed, which drew a glare from his wife. Although Grace’s moodiness irritated Ashlyn, he always found it entertaining. “I am terribly sorry, Grace. God never trusted the likes of me with money.”

  “But why do we have to be poor? Poor farmers?”

  “Believe me, young lady, you don’t know a thing about being poor and can be thankful to God that you never will.” Seamus raised an eyebrow as if to signal she was pushing the line for even him.

  “I know, I know.” Grace glared out the window. “Your whole family had one potato to eat for a whole day.”

  Ashlyn’s body clenched beside him. “Child, guard the way you talk to your father. He lost his brother and mother and father during those hard times.”

  Grace met her father’s gaze, and her hard demeanor melted as it always did at some point. She lifted her worn shoes and looked down. “I’m sorry, Da.” She raised her eyes to both her parents. “I can be awful at times, can’t I?”

  Seamus smiled and wondered if he could ever love her more. How would he be able to protect her as she was becoming such a beautiful young lady?

  Grace narrowed her eyes and glanced to the side. “Do you think they’ll like me here?”

  “Who? The other children?” Seamus loved being her father, especially when she was vulnerable. “And how did you get your name?”

  She shook her head. “Because . . . I am grace from God.”

  “And who doesn’t want—?” Ashlyn began.

  “Yes,” Grace smiled begru
dgingly, “who doesn’t want grace from God?”

  “So?” Seamus raised his brow. “What color horse will you get?”

  Grace looked up and pursed her lips. “Oh, let’s see. Perhaps black. No. Brown. Definitely brown.”

  “Ahhh.” Seamus shook his head. “Such a pity. A true Irishwoman would only fancy a gray mare.”

  The coachman shouted and veered the vehicle to the right, then the road got decidedly rougher and they bounced about.

  “Now I am feeling as if we’re in Ireland,” Seamus said.

  Ashlyn gave a squeal and clapped. “We’re here!”

  They all crowded around her to peer out, and the carriage drew down a long pathway leading up to a large white home with black shutters and a red-brick base. Although the fields were barren from the season, they seemed surprisingly well kept.

  “It’s lovely.” Ashlyn put her hand over her mouth. “And my old swing is still hanging from that oak tree.”

  “It’s lonely looking.”

  Seamus couldn’t argue with Grace’s description. He was wrestling with the strange irony of him, of all people, returning to life on a farm. When he left the Hanley family potato fields more than fourteen years earlier, it was in full expectation he would never lift a hoe or bury a grain of seed again.

  It wasn’t that he was against difficult labor—Seamus had become a hard worker. The challenge was the fields returned him back to all of those difficult memories and emotions of growing up with his father, Liam. His old man was more a prisoner to his responsibilities on the generations-old Hanley farm, and he took his misery and frustration out on his children. And chief among them Seamus, his oldest son.

  As a boy, Seamus’s response was to flee whenever possible, and any free moment from his duties on his father’s farm, he would spend as far away as possible.

  So he felt in no position to argue Grace’s response to this decision to return to Ashlyn’s home. In some ways, he felt it was some type of divine justice for the poor decisions he made back in California, which had taken his family on such a difficult path.