“That makes me feel a little better,” he sighed. “I just wish I could see your face.”
“I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay. Please be careful, Camdyn. I guess I’ll tell you good night, then.”
“I will. Goodnight,” I whispered. As soon as he hung up, I pulled up the picture we had taken in the mountains the day before and sent it to him. It took a couple of minutes before he responded, and when my phone buzzed, I picked it up to see what he wrote: I adore you, Camdyn. Good night.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday morning I woke early and headed downstairs to the fitness area, plugging out three miles on the treadmill. There was another woman in there who looked about my age, with dark hair and deep set eyes, and we made small talk long enough for me to find out her name was Laurel, and she was in Louisville on business. Because I was anxious to find Sybil, I made my excuses pretty quickly. I was fairly certain I located her using my laptop the night before, so I was going to take a chance and head over to her house as soon as I was convinced I wouldn’t wake her.
I took a shower, dressed in a flowy white top with three-quarter length sleeves and a pair of lilac jeans, and went back downstairs for the complimentary breakfast. It only took a minute for Laurel to spot me, and she waved me over.
“You look cozy,” she stated, taking in my apparel. “I’m guessing you don’t have a business meeting today.” I sat down and appraised her pencil skirt and button-up shirt, shaking my head.
“No, no business meetings. Just a friendly visit, I hope.”
“It’s not often I meet other women my age traveling alone,” she said. “Maybe we could get together sometime, if you’re still here.”
“I might be here until the end of the week, so sure.”
“Okay then.” She smiled as she stood and took her plate. “I have to go, or I’ll be late. Enjoy your visit today!”
“Thank you,” I called as she walked out of the room. I grabbed a bagel and a strawberry yogurt and absently watched the television in the corner, waiting for time to pass.
Around nine o’clock, I decided it would be safe to venture out. I programmed the directions to Sybil’s house into my phone and headed on my way. She lived quite a distance from my hotel, so it took me twenty-five minutes before I pulled into a quiet neighborhood and in front of a cozy-looking house with white siding and roses in the front yard. I put the car in park, grabbed my laptop and planner as well as a copy of my last book, prayed for a little favor in the situation, and then walked up to the front door. As I rang the bell, I wondered how to approach the subject and how she might receive me, and decided I would seem totally crazy no matter what I said.
It only took a few seconds for the door to open a couple of inches, revealing a woman of about fifty with black curly hair who stood around six inches shorter than me. She eyed me apprehensively and I attempted to smile, ultimately abandoning that gesture so I didn’t seem insane.
“Sybil Brantley?” I asked. She nodded but didn’t say anything. “This is going to sound crazy, but are you the Sybil Brantley that maintains the historical records?”
“Yes, I am,” she stated hesitantly.
“That’s great,” I told her. “My name is Camdyn Taylor. I write historical novels under the name C.W. Oliver.” I held out a copy of my book so she could see the name.
“C.W. Oliver?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s right, and I think you might have some information for the book I’m writing now, about Wilhelmina Lawrence Clark.”
She stepped outside the door and looked down the street in both directions, craning her neck before a smirk spread across her face.
“Did Alberta put you up to this?” she finally asked.
“Alberta?”
“Or Sue Ellen? I bet it was Sue Ellen.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone named Alberta or Sue Ellen.”
“You really expect me to believe you’re C.W. Oliver? The same C.W. Oliver whose book we just read in the Austen Book League? I’m sorry honey, I don’t know who put you up to this, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Wait a minute…” I pleaded as she closed the door.
I stood on the porch for a few seconds, and then I knocked three times. She opened the door with a huff and just stared at me.
“I’m very sorry,” I began politely, “I understand why you don’t think I’m C.W. Oliver. Honestly, sometimes I have a hard time believing it myself, but I drove half the day yesterday just so I could talk to you, and I’m afraid I’m not leaving your porch until I do.”
I watched as she stretched every inch of her small frame to stand up as tall as she could, and then folded her arms across her chest.
“What did you say your name was again?” she asked.
“Camdyn Taylor.”
“Come inside,” she said, standing back so I could enter. “I will give you one minute, nothing more.”
One minute? God, help me!
I stepped past her into the house, not really taking in my surroundings because I was conscious that my one minute was already ticking away. She motioned me to the kitchen table, but as we went in that direction, I couldn’t stop myself from talking.
“I’ve been in Tennessee researching Wilhelmina Lawrence Clark. She traveled from Virginia to Tennessee on a wagon alone with a baby. I should say, that is what the records indicate, but I couldn’t verify that fact. I was finally able to get the most experienced librarian to find out where that tidbit of history came from, and that’s why I’m here. Your name was attached to that record.”
“Could be,” she stated skeptically. “I have a lot of family historical records. Why are you researching her, anyway?”
“Because that baby on the wagon was my fourth great-grandmother.”
“Elizabeth?” she asked. My eyes opened wide at that moment, because clearly she knew this information. A momentary glimmer of recognition passed between us as I looked into her eyes.
“Yes, Elizabeth Lawrence,” I stated. She pulled out a chair and pointed.
“Have a seat,” she told me. “You’ve come to the right place.”
I sat down slowly at the table, placing my laptop and planner next to me, and waited for her to return. She was gone for a couple of minutes, but when I saw her walking towards me, she had a large binder and what looked like two picture albums.
“You know one of the things I liked about that book you’re holding?” she asked, nodding towards my book that I had brought along. I merely shook my head and waited for her answer. “I so enjoyed the descriptions of the different rooms at Mount Vernon – they were so vivid. The blue in the large dining room…”
“Oh, you must be thinking of the west parlor,” I corrected her. “The wallpaper in the large dining room is green, although the green in the small dining room was much more intense, in my opinion.”
“Yes, green, of course,” she said, placing the items on the table and sitting across from me. “My lands, you are C.W. Oliver aren’t you? I’m sorry about the way I treated you a minute ago, that was just poor timing is all.”
“Poor timing?”
“Oh, the other day at our book meeting, we had just finished our discussion and someone made a comment about how C.W. Oliver always had such great attention to detail, to really make the reader feel that she was right there. I said that was because C.W. Oliver studied her history.”
“Her?” I asked. “Most people think I am a man named Ted.”
“Oh, I knew it was a woman. There are some things only a woman would care to look into, frankly. The thing was, after I made that comment about studying history, Alberta commented that she was sure C.W. Oliver would show up on my doorstep one day, then, looking for information. Sue Ellen agreed, and she really laid it on thick. Naturally, when you showed up saying you were C.W. Oliver, I thought they were pulling my chain.”
“That is quite a coincidence,” I said. “Maybe they could see into the future.”
�
��Those two? Ha! They can’t even see themselves into next week. Never mind them, though. What is it you need to know about Wilhelmina?” She clasped her hands in front of her on the table, and I instinctively opened my planner to a clean page, pen in hand.
“I really want to know her reason to run,” I said, deciding to go for the heart of the matter. “She left Virginia so suddenly, being written out of her father’s will, and I can only imagine what could have happened to cause that. Maybe you know that and maybe you don’t, but you were the one who knew she left alone, so you are my last best hope, Sybil. Your friends are right about that – I need you.”
“Ha! That could be the first time they were right,” she mumbled, but then she opened the binder and pulled several plastic protective sheets out carefully, placing them on the table in front of me. “This letter is from Jane Ristek, who was Miriam Clark’s daughter and also happens to be my great, great-grandmother. Miriam Clark was the daughter of Wilhelmina Lawrence and Robert Clark.”
“You and I are related, then,” I said with a smile. She nodded her agreement and resumed her explanation.
“Wilhelmina, who was also called Willa by her acquaintances, was a well-respected woman. Although some of her great-grandchildren did not have the pleasure of meeting her, they knew a great deal about her because of her reputation. When she passed away, one of the great-grandchildren wrote to Jane Ristek that she wished she had been afforded the opportunity to meet her great-grandmother, because she knew she was a remarkable woman. This letter is Jane’s response.”
I stared at the letter but was afraid to touch it, if it was really as old as she indicated, regardless of the plastic covering. She must have noticed my hesitation, because she pushed it closer to me and nodded. I looked down at the graceful cursive handwriting.
“This is the real letter?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes, the one and only,” she said. “I have copies, of course, but these are the actual pages Jane sent to her niece.”
“Wow, that’s remarkable,” I whispered.
“Go ahead, read it,” she encouraged. I smiled and looked down to view the page.
Dearest Liza,
I too wish you had the opportunity to meet my grandmother, because she was a remarkable woman in every sense of the word. As a young girl, I always asked my grandmother to tell me a story. Sometimes she was too busy, as life tends to keep a person, but on occasion she would allow me to sit with her while she delighted me with her tales. My favorite, of course, was about her trip on the wagon train, but although she would tell me of the hardships along the way, I was more interested in the before and after.
Your great-grandmother Willa grew up in Virginia on a tobacco plantation. Being the only child and a daughter offered certain privileges, of course, but there were also many expectations. First and foremost of these was that, when she was of age, she would marry her father’s second cousin, Adlai Lawrence. This prospect was never overly burdensome to her, because she was fond of Adlai, who was only three years her senior.
When she was about nineteen years old, though, an event happened that would change the course of her life forever. She snuck away early one morning to go visit a friend, cutting through the forest to avoid being seen on the road. She came upon a large fallen tree, and realizing that a small twig had become tangled in the hem of her skirt, she sat down. She was removing the twig when a young man happened by on his way into town, where he apprenticed with the blacksmith. He introduced himself as Robert Clark, and they chatted for only a moment as he did not want to be late, but she could not forget the meeting.
“So she did know Robert Clark!” I exclaimed, looking up at Sybil. She nodded with a knowing grin, and I went back to the letter.
Even though it was not necessary, she found herself returning home by the same route, hoping to run into Robert again. He was not there, of course, so she returned home. I remember so well what my grandmother told me of him – he had a smile that could melt any girl’s heart.
The next morning she had no reason to venture out, as she was not visiting anyone, but she found herself going to that same fallen tree that she had seen the previous morning. She waited for almost an hour, hoping to run into the young man again, but he did not come. She had given up and stood to return home when she noticed a slip of paper in a knot of the tree. “To my beautiful new friend,” the note read. “I desire to see you again. I am sure you will be wiser than I am and refuse, but I did not want to regret keeping silent.” Even though the note wasn’t signed, she held out hope that it was meant for her.
Not knowing what time he usually happened through that part of the forest, she decided to meet him in town. Knowing it would be tricky, she devised a plan by saying she needed to purchase a new pair of gloves. Her father allowed her to ride into town with her uncle. Before leaving, she wrote a note of her own stating that she would be waiting at the fallen tree at dusk, and she tucked it carefully into her pocket.
Upon arriving in town, her uncle began discussing crops with a couple of gentlemen, and she went into a shop that offered a view of the blacksmith’s area. She purchased a newspaper and then watched until the blacksmith stepped into the back, whereupon she hastily made her way across the street. She could see Robert standing there working, and stuffed the note inside the newspaper and walked right up to him. “You should read the paper today, it’s very interesting,” she said, and then she handed him the paper and walked away. She could hardly believe that she had done something so bold.
That evening, she snuck out and went to the fallen tree to find that Robert was not there. She waited almost half an hour, and was about to head back home when she saw him walking toward her. He apologized for being late, and after a brief visit, made plans to meet again the next night.
The two of them met every night for nearly two months, when he told her that he wanted to set out on his own and start a new life. He asked her to come with him, and even though she knew how much her life would change, she agreed. Together they decided on a day that they would leave and made their plans.
That night when she returned home, her father was waiting in her bedroom. She admitted to sneaking out to see Robert, and informed her father of her desire to leave with him. Her father refused to consent and put her under close supervision. The day came that she had arranged to leave with Robert, and she found herself in the company of her father the entire day. It was three days later that she finally found the opportunity to sneak out, and when she went to the fallen tree, the only thing she found was a note that said, “I will love you all of my life.”
She was crushed, but her father insisted now was the time to finalize the marriage agreement with Adlai. She fought him for a few days, but when word reached her that Robert had indeed left for Tennessee, and that his parents had arranged a marriage with a young lady named Sarah, she consented to marry Adlai.
A couple of years went by, and she tried to be a good wife to Adlai, but she never forgot Robert. Not long after she had her daughter, Elizabeth, Adlai contracted scarlet fever, and within a short period of time he was gone. Left alone, she returned to her parents’ home with Elizabeth.
Some months later, word came through a friend that Robert’s parents had received a letter from him stating that Sarah had died in childbirth. With no other assurance other than the note years before that he would love her all of his life, she began making secret plans to join a wagon train. The night before she left, she bundled up a few of her belongings and a little money and planned her escape.
The wagon train was certainly an adventure, but as I wrote earlier, I enjoyed the before and after more. When she arrived at their destination, dirty and exhausted, she set out on foot with her few belongings slung over her shoulder and young Elizabeth in her arms. She walked for several miles before seeing a man working the land on the horizon. She had nearly reached him when he finally looked up and saw her.
This was my favorite part of the story, because her eyes would go far a
way, and I thought she was reliving the moment. She told me that as she walked up to him she began to fear that he might not accept her, or that he might not understand. Not saying a word, he simply smiled as he relieved her of her burden and reached out to take Elizabeth from her arms. What he said then, she told me she would never forget. “My heart never stopped waiting for you.”
Oh, how I loved that story, and still do. Your great-grandmother did not have an easy life, and she and your great-grandfather certainly had their share of heartbreak and struggles, but they knew that love is the only thing that really matters. If I could implore you to live out your great-grandmother’s legacy, those would be my words: Love is the only thing.
Liza, do tell my dear brother I said hello, and that I hope to see you all soon, God willing.
Yours most lovingly,
Aunt Jane
I leaned back in my chair, eyes welling up with tears, and stared down at the pages. I wasn’t sure what I had hoped to find when I came here, but this was so far above and beyond my expectations that I didn’t know what to say. Why had I never considered the possibility that Willa could have loved Robert all along? The thought had never even crossed my mind.
And to think I was considering labeling her a murderer at one time. If I hadn’t felt that urge to stop writing and wait…
“So, what do you think?” Sybil asked, bringing me back to the present.
“This is just…incredible,” I told her. “I can’t believe this even exists.”
“Well, then you will love this one,” Sybil said in a cheery tone, pushing another plastic sheet in front of me. I looked down to see a yellowed piece of paper that was torn along one side and had almost faded to the point that it was illegible, but when I brought my face closer to it, the message became clear.
I will love you all of my life.
A Reason to Run (The Camdyn Series Book 1) Page 29
