0764214101
Page 1
© 2016 by Peterson Ink, Inc., and Kimberley Woodhouse
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2016
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2947-2
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015952150
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Paul Higdon
Cover illustration by William Graf
Kimberley Woodhouse is represented by The Steve Laube Agency
This book is dedicated to and in loving memory of:
JAMES WILLIAM (WOODY) WOODHOUSE
One of the very best men I’ve ever known. My beloved father-in-law. For twenty-three plus years, you called me daughter, told me you loved me, and gave me a hard time whenever you had the chance.
It was priceless.
Even though you left a gaping hole (who will I debate and discuss music with?), I’m rejoicing that you are with our Lord and Savior.
Thank you for all the quiet encouragement and support you bestowed on me over the years—telling me you were proud of me and that I “did well.”
Miss you, Dad. Can’t wait to see you again.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Also by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse
Back Ads
Back Cover
PROLOGUE
1890
Far-off screams filled the air and rattled six-year-old Jimmy Colton’s bones.
Mama?
Jimmy paused to listen again and looked back toward the house. Another scream echoed across the yard. Something was wrong! He dropped his bucket of dirt and took off toward the house as fast as his legs could carry him, following the long path through the olive trees and gardens. Why did he go so far from the house? Mama had told him to stay close, but he’d wanted to chase the butterflies.
He tripped and fell on a tree root. Dirt filled his mouth and his knees hurt.
Another scream split the air and made his heart beat faster. He had to get to Mama. Something bad was happening. Real bad.
He pushed to his feet and ran. Harder and harder.
There. The house was in sight once he cleared the trees. He raced to the back porch, jumped up the stairs, and yanked open the screen door.
A stitch in his side made him stop and bend over for air. “Mama?”
Silence.
“Mama? Where are you?”
A mean voice from upstairs said something he didn’t understand. Slap! Smack! The sounds scared him and urged him forward.
The backstairs door was locked, so Jimmy raced from the kitchen to the parlor and then to the front of the house and looked at the big staircase. His mother lay at the top, whimpering.
“Now, where is it?” The mean voice belonged to a pair of dirty boots that kicked his mama. “You took it, didn’t you?”
Jimmy bolted forward and saw the man. Ugly. Dirty. Big. “Don’t you hurt my mama!”
The man’s head snapped up and squinted down. “Shut up, you little runt. You’re next!” His ugly hands grabbed Mama’s shoulders and then her neck. He forced her to her feet. “I won’t hurt the boy if you’ll just tell me where you hid it.” The ugly man spat on the floor. Then he shook her again and again, raised his fist, and reared back—
“No!” Jimmy couldn’t move. What was happening? He looked down at his feet as a whirring sound started in his head.
Laughter trickled down to him. But it wasn’t nice laughter. “What? Aren’t you gonna come get me?” He dropped Mama to the floor again. “Aw, are you afraid? Cat got your tongue?” The bad man yanked Mama’s limp form up again and lowered his voice. “I’m gonna count to three and then I’m gonna kill your kid if you don’t tell me.” He looked down at Jimmy and snarled. “One . . .”
Jimmy’s hands balled into fists at his sides but he couldn’t seem to breathe or even move. His chest tightened. The whirring got louder. Where was Papa? Mama wasn’t moving. Was she asleep?
“Two . . .”
Slap! The sound shook Jimmy to his knees. But this time it was Mama’s hand doing the hitting. She hit the man’s face again and then she clawed at him. Blood trickled down from the corner of his eye. She’d scratched him good.
“Run, Jimmy!” Her words were raspy.
“Why, you little . . .” The man’s words grew louder until a roar filled Jimmy’s ears and blotted out everything else.
Spots danced in front of his eyes as he gasped for air and watched the terrible man throw his mother down the stairs. Jimmy felt himself falling with her. He hit his head hard on the foyer floor and opened his eyes. But he couldn’t see.
Mama! Clamping his eyes shut, his head hurt worse than he could ever remember. He tried to open his eyes again. To see her. Was she okay? His breaths were fast but he still couldn’t get any air. Heavy thumps sounded on the stairs. The man was coming.
No! Jimmy lifted his eyelids a little and saw Mama. She was on the floor not too far from him. Her face was swollen and red and blood ran from her mouth.
Her hand reached out to his. “I . . . love you . . . Jimmy.”
He cried. “I love you too, Mama.”
The footsteps came closer. “Now, ain’t this special?”
Mama closed her eyes and squeezed his hand. She wheezed, “Run!”
CHAPTER ONE
Indianapolis, Indiana, 1891
I forbid you to go!” Spittle flew from Adam Fletcher’s mouth, his face a mottled red.
“My decision is made, Grandfather. I’m sorry.” Two could play at this game. Lillian Porter wasn’t a mouse to be trampled any longer by her stampeding-elephant-like-temper-
tantrum-throwing grandparent. If she could just convince her heart to slow its tempo and stop breaking in two, she might survive this.
His eyes narrowed as the red of his face deepened. “How dare you speak back to me like that, child? You were not raised by your grandmother—God rest her soul—to ever speak to an elder in such a way.” He stomped across the room and stopped mere inches from her.
She lowered her face. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Grandfather. I only want to do something meaningful with my life.”
“Meaningful? Bah. A woman’s place is in the house, not gallivanting off to a place she’s never been. And by herself!” His bony finger pointed at her nose. “I’ll cut you off without a cent, I will!” Turning in a huff, he began to pace the room like a caged animal.
“Please, Grandfather, don’t upset yourself so much.”
He turned and looked at her oddly. “You’re the one upsetting me.”
Deep sorrow coursed through her. “I don’t want to upset you, but can’t you see that this is a good thing?”
“No, not at all. You won’t be safe out there.”
Lillian sighed. He wasn’t going to hear reason no matter what she said, but she had to try. “Grandfather, for years you’ve cut me off from the world. After Grandmother died you wouldn’t let me associate with my friends or even go shopping. You’ve jailed me up in this castle, not even allowing me to go to finishing school. The only time I ever get out of the house is to attend church with you.”
“I’ve kept you safe,” he countered and began pacing again.
“Safe? I suppose most prisons are, but they certainly aren’t happy places.”
In earlier years, while her beloved grandmother still lived, Grandfather had been doting and kind. As soon as she heard him come in the door each evening, she’d race down the grand staircase and hug him with all her might. He often had a peppermint stick or ribbon in his coat pocket for her. They’d laugh and talk and she’d follow him to his study and search maps in the atlas as he smoked his pipe. But after Grandmother passed, the smiling, doting, loving man turned into a beast. Lillian envisioned him transforming into a lion the way he roared his commands. On other days, she imagined him like a monstrous, huge elephant with red eyes and tusks sharp as sword blades as he stomped around the house grumbling his displeasure about everyone and everything.
Lillian took a deep breath and rubbed the locket at her throat. It contained the only picture she had of her mother and father—young and happy. Ready to follow their dreams to California. She wanted to follow their dreams, make some of her own, and actually do something with her life. Being locked up in a mansion surrounded by grief and no hope for the future would be her undoing.
Grandmother had always encouraged her to be herself—that it was okay to be strong and stand up for what she believed in. She’d often spoken of the tenacity it took to put up with a strong-willed, stubborn man. But she also modeled the behavior of a submissive, loving, and humble wife. How she ever balanced it all baffled Lillian to this day—especially after seeing the other side of her grandfather. If only she had her grandmother’s wisdom at this moment. Standing up to this man she loved so dearly had taken years of bottled-up bravery. “Grandfather—”
“Do not call me ‘Grandfather’ with that tone that always got you whatever you wanted whenever your grandmother was alive. I will disown you and never speak to you again.” He waved at her as if in dismissal.
Lillian stiffened her shoulders. All these years . . . she’d put up with his bullying and anger because she loved him. She knew he was grieved over his loss, but she always hoped and prayed that one day, maybe, he’d allow her real grandfather to take up residence again.
“If that’s what you wish.” She thought of all the angry things she might say to wound him as much as he was wounding her. But she didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else.
Her grandfather looked up at her, the scowl still lining his forehead, tears dampening his eyes. His grief radiated in waves off of him for all to feel. The man’s misery was of his own doing. Rather than sharing in their grief together, he shut Lillian—and everyone else—out. In denying himself love and relationships, he’d found security in his anger and sorrow. As he turned his back toward her again, his shoulders slumped.
Lillian wanted only to comfort him—reassure him that she would always love him. “I do not wish to hurt you, Grandfather. And I don’t care one whit about your money. I care about you. You are my blood, my kin, and I love you.”
“Your words and actions here today would suggest otherwise.” He turned slowly. “I’ve done the best I could by you.”
“But you can’t cage a person up just because you fear something bad might happen to them. Grandmother was afraid you might fret like this. She told me so. But her dying words were encouragement to live a life of purpose and value. To seek my dreams—my mother’s dream. And . . . I intend to follow through.”
The old man turned in a rage with his teeth bared. “How dare you! You know your mother’s dream ended in death. Death!” he screamed. “My only child.” He choked the words, then clenched his jaw. “And I will not allow for you to follow in her footsteps, no matter what you think your grandmother said to you.”
“I’ve already accepted—”
“I don’t care what you’ve accepted! I said I forbid it and that’s final!”
“Ahem.” Stanton, their trusted butler, interrupted. “Your carriage is here, miss.”
Lillian turned to the door of the library and found the bags she’d packed in the butler’s hands. Two trunks sat behind him. “I guess that’s it, then. Ask the driver to load my bags, please.” She glanced one more time at her grandfather. Maybe, just maybe, she could get through to him.
“What do you mean—” her grandfather whirled around. “Stanton, what is this?”
“Miss Lillian’s things, sir.” The butler stood rigid.
“I’m on the next train, Grandfather.” If only he would try to stop her. Tell her that he loved her. Please. Not that she wouldn’t still go, but at least she would see some sign that the man she’d loved with all her heart resided within that hard shell somewhere. But he didn’t respond. She sucked in a breath and held her grief in check. “I had hoped we could part on good terms. I won’t be gone forever. I will write to you every week, and maybe one day you will even want to come for a visit.”
For a long moment he stared at her. His expression a mix of anger and disbelief. No one ever defied him for fear of losing their position or his financial support, yet she had just done so without regard for his money.
The mahogany walls and shelves lined with books seemed to close in on Lillian. This had once been her favorite room. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side that drenched her in sunlight. The maps and ship models. And the books. She loved the books. She’d often followed the housekeeper around as the shelves were dusted and polished, breathing in the scent of leather, wood, and lemon oil. She held her breath. How could a room that held so much love and so many beautiful memories now strangle her with regret?
Grandfather took several steps toward her and then stopped, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Then so be it.” His face hardened even more. “Get out.”
“Grandfather.” She let out her breath in shock. Must he always be so thickheaded and stubborn? “Please. We don’t want to say good-bye like this. As I said, I will write to you. And, when I can, I will be back to visit.”
“No.” Adam Fletcher’s booming voice suddenly lowered. “I don’t want to hear from you. And I never want to see you again.” His eyes flashed like fire as he brushed past her and stormed from the room just as Stanton returned.
The tears came then. Big fat rolling tears. She suppressed a sob as Stanton looked at her with compassion.
“He’s a hard man, miss.” The butler stayed in his position at the door, but his features had softened significantly since his employer had left. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.”
The man nodded. He’d been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. “Yes, miss. The good Lord will guide and keep you.” He turned toward the foyer. “I believe the driver is ready to get you to the station.”
“I’m sorry to leave you all like this, Stanton. You . . . well, all of the staff have been there for me since I was a baby. It’s been so difficult the past few years, and he refuses to listen to anyone. Please don’t think I’m abandoning you.” She sighed. No use chattering any longer or attempting to explain.
The butler’s expression said it all. He understood. Probably better than most.
“I’d like to keep in touch with you and the other staff, if that’s all right?” Her steps slowed on the marble floor as she gazed at her home for what could be the last time. As she looked up at the upper landing, she envisioned her grandmother waving her hankie and smiling. The good memories this great big house contained. If only she could box them up and keep them with her always, blotting out all the sad ones of late.
“Yes, miss. We would like that very much.” The rigid set of his stance never faltered as he paused at the door. “You are like a cherished daughter to us all. I’m certain you will make an outstanding nanny to the little mute boy. He’ll need some joy in his life, and you will most undoubtedly bring it. Never forget that we will all be praying for you. Don’t hesitate to send us word if you need anything.”
Lillian took the smaller of the two bags from Stanton, then headed through the open door to the carriage. She managed to swallow around the lump in her throat. These people were so dear to her. Why, they and this house were all she’d ever known. Pressing a hand to her locket, she heard what she thought were footsteps and turned on her heel. But the empty foyer mocked her. Her love for the old man must’ve conjured up the sounds in her mind. Hoping that he’d change his mind.