But first he had to build his barn and stables and then his home. When Father gave him his inheritance, he promised to send a crew to help Mac with construction. The men would arrive shortly.
From the far end of the block, James Hawkins caught Mac’s eye and waved. Mac lifted his hand in thanks and the man faced forward and walked on. Blake occupied himself with loading their belongings into the wagon. Mac’s tumultuous thoughts preoccupied him. Perhaps as he made the acquaintances of more men in Middletown, although never allowing himself to be sucked into their woe, he would no longer so easily succumb to Lily’s companionship.
And then, like daylight turned to dusk, thoughts of Lily turned to memories of Mary. She’d grown into spinsterhood waiting for his return and died before he reached American soil. Mac had mourned her death, certainly, but now he felt more guilt than sadness. Mary had a bold and solid faith—like Lily’s. But unlike Lily, Mary never affected him the way his pretty new neighbor did. The truth of it was, Lily distracted him beyond all reason.
And Mac couldn’t afford any diversions. They would surely be his downfall, and he must not fail. Not this time.
“So where to, Cap’n?” Blake climbed onto the front seat of the long, wooden wagon.
“Home, Blake.” Mac held the reins in his hands and snapped them over the mules’ backsides. Determination filled his entire being. “We’re going home.”
Did you never construct a hideout when you were a boy?”
“No, never did.” Blake halted his squeeze-box serenade. “But what you’re building resembles a house my mother rented when I was a boy.”
“Surely, you’re joking.” Mac tossed another piece of plank from the barn onto the makeshift roof of his new home and guest quarters. A good thing he and Blake hadn’t gotten more time to burn the entirety of barn wood and, equally as fortunate that the seven-foot-high stone foundation only needed minor repairs. “This hovel will protect us from the elements, but only temporarily. I hope to have my new barn and stable built by the time the winter comes.”
“I’ve spent many winters in a hut like you’ve thrown together.” A sorrowful glimmer entered Blake’s eyes, one Mac never noticed before. “Now you know why I thought the sea was the queen herself and the ships on which I sailed were palaces.”
“Hm … well, I suppose that explains why you never complained of cramped quarters and a hammock for a bed.”
“Not I, Cap’n, although I admit that on most nights I was too full of rum to care where I slept.”
His friend spoke the truth there.
Mac threw more remnants of the barn onto their makeshift living quarters. Afterward he rubbed his palms together to rid himself of the wood dust and grime. “Well, my friend, this shall be a camp you’ll not soon forget.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Blake snorted and began playing a mournful tune.
“Play something more lively, will you?”
“If it’s lively you want, then that’s what you’ll get.” Blake pumped out the melody of “Yankee Privateer.” Soon the two of them sang,
“We sailed and we sailed,
And we kept good cheer.
We’re not a British frigate,
But a Yankee privateer.”
Blake chortled. “Remember how we sang that tune and made Cap’n Osborn’s face redder than stewed tomatoes?”
“I remember.” Smiling, Mac gathered twigs and small pieces of wood for a fire. “We’re lucky he didn’t hang us.”
“Aw, he knew it was all in good fun.”
“That he did—and he had a long fuse, which certainly helped matters.”
“I’ll say.” Blake clamored to his feet and tucked away his instrument.
“Done playing?”
“Aye. I’m mighty hungry now. I think I’ll head over to Hilda’s and see what she’s made for supper.”
Something deep inside Mac warred within him. He had sought Lily out in the churchyard, even protected her from Everett. His actions hadn’t gone unnoticed. He’d seen how the congregating church members looked on. Then he and Blake left with the Laughlins and Mrs. Gunther. Mac could only guess what the talk of the town was at supper tables all across Middletown.
It was for the best that his friendship with Lily ended here and now.
“You comin’, Cap’n?”
“No.”
“No?” Blake tipped his head. “Why not?”
After dumping an armful of dried wood onto his growing pile, Mac faced his friend. “I didn’t move to the Shenandoah Valley to get mixed up with a young lady.”
“The Laughlins and Hilda are your neighbors.”
“True, but I’ve not been careful where Lily is concerned. This morning Everett pointed out the fact that I could jeopardize her reputation by my overly friendly actions.”
“Bah!” Blake waved off the notion. “What do you care what that strutting peacock says?”
“I have to care, Blake. My future depends on it.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake, Cap’n. Falling in love only betters a man.”
“Or breaks his heart.”
“Miss Lily won’t do that.”
Mac clenched his jaw then took in a long breath. “I’ve got my future to secure before I entertain notions of taking a woman to wife.” And, God forbid, Lily would choose to wait for him until she became an old woman—like Mary. Despite the fact he despised Everett, Lily might do well to marry the man. She’d have everything a woman could want—well, almost everything. However, it was as he’d told her: marriages weren’t always made out of love but out of need and practicality.
“Suit yourself, Cap’n, but my belly is leading me to Hilda’s supper table.” Blake headed in the direction of the stone bridge.
Mac longed to follow for no other reason than the rumblings in his belly. The porridge at the inn this morning had tasted like paste. He could use a hearty meal.
With hands on his hips, Mac contemplated the hovel he created. The sheer discomfort of it would spur him on to building his barn and, perhaps, even digging the foundation of his house before winter arrived. Nearly every coin he owned had been invested in the land on which he stood. Every dollar had gone toward beginning his new life.
And, in spite of his feelings, there was no place for Lily in this new world he now called home.
Lily found it hard to believe that a week and a half had passed since Issie’s invitation. Seemed like months, but finally Wednesday evening arrived, cold and gloomy, and bearing the reminder that autumn would soon be at hand. Harvest time was rapidly approaching. As she walked toward the Hawkinses’ home, Lily’s ideas of bringing in the harvest teetered. If only Shona and his native friends would come around in the fall and offer their help it would ease her troubled mind. Papa had employed them the past few years when the men showed up, asking for work. Payment for their labor came in the form of shares in the harvested crops so they could feed their families. However, it was always a gamble for the men, as opportunity dictated their schedules. A bigger farm promised larger shares in wheat, corn, fruit, and vegetables, while the Laughlins’ smaller one produced far less.
Lily wrapped her hooded cape more tightly around her shoulders as cold rain pelted her from all sides. If she arrived at the Hawkinses’ home soaked to the bone, it would be her fault for not accepting Mr. Everett’s offer of his carriage. But she’d come to realize how Mr. Everett’s kindnesses carried with them subtle indebtednesses, and she wished to owe the man nothing.
Except she and her family owed him everything. They wrote out a list, and Mr. Everett had the foodstuffs delivered. If they needed material and thread, Mr. Everett saw to it they got it. For months now she and Aunt Hilda had been spared the walk into town. It had been hot and humid, so they figured it was just as well. And, of course, they were still reeling from the void Papa’s death left in their hearts. Now Lily wished she hadn’t begun to rely on Mr. Everett, and yet she was forced to, as he was the executor of whatever funds and assets existe
d in Papa’s estate.
Mr. Everett still claimed they were penniless.
Lily clenched her fists. They couldn’t be! It didn’t make sense.
Lily passed Mac’s orchard, wondering if she would see him tonight. They very idea made her heart drop like a stone. Mac had made himself scarce these past several days, and when Lily waved to him across the meadow, he’d turned away as if he hadn’t seen her. Mr. Blake said Mac battled some inner tempest, but he refused to elaborate, as any loyal friend would. Did that tempest have anything to do with the broken-down old barn and the rotten fences which once made up a prime barnyard? Perhaps if Mac had known just how much work lay ahead of him, he wouldn’t have purchased the acreage.
Well, Lily had nothing to do with the sale, and it seemed to her that if she’d accepted the idea, Mac ought to accept it also. Even so, she couldn’t blame him for being miffed. A lot of extra time and work had to go into tearing down the old in order to build the new.
The rain let up and Lily hurried on her way up the pike. At last she reached Issie and James’s small farm. Although a blacksmith and liveryman by trade, James liked to putter around in his garden, and he possessed quite the green thumb. Issie, too, had developed impressive agricultural skills over the years. She’d grown up on a farm not too far away. Her parents still resided there.
The lacy curtain on the front window fluttered and, moments later, the door opened wide.
“Don’t tell me you walked all the way here.” Issie clucked her tongue.
“All right, I won’t tell you.” Lily shrugged out of her soaked cloak. “However, I believe the evidence speaks for itself.”
“Indeed.” Taking the wet wrap, Issie excused herself and proceeded toward the kitchen. Lily guessed she would hang the cloak on a peg near the open hearth.
Brushing the moisture from her dark-blue printed gown, Lily wished once more that she had accepted the offer of Mr. Everett’s carriage. He seemed not to mind that he wasn’t invited. Then again, Mr. Everett preferred rubbing elbows with the upper class who passed through Middletown and stayed at his inn.
Issie returned, with raindrops staining her blue-green gown. Lily felt instantly guilty. However, Issie didn’t seem to care. She looped her arm around Lily’s and together they entered the parlor where a fire in the stone hearth blazed and warmed the room. Lily greeted Reverend and Mrs. Kasper with a smile and a wave. They stood at the far end of the room, conversing with James.
“Amanda is asleep and dinner is ready.” Issie’s hazel eyes glimmered with accomplishment. “We are just waiting on Captain Albright.”
“Is he coming?” Lily held her hands out to the brightly burning flames.
“I thought so.” Frown lines peeped out from beneath the auburn curls on Issie’s forehead. “But you should know. He’s your neighbor and—”
“I haven’t spoken to the man for over a week, and Mr. Blake, the captain’s companion, is careful not to say too much. Therefore, I haven’t a clue as to what’s going on with my new neighbor.”
“I see.”
“But it would seem,” Lily whispered, “that I have offended him somehow.”
Issie gasped. “What sassy thing did you say?”
“I don’t know.” While Lily had only just recently met the man, she missed their friendship. “Perhaps I spouted some nonsense and he didn’t know I was joking.” It’s all Lily had come up with after rehashing their Sunday morning and ride back home together.
“Well, perhaps you both can settle things tonight.” Issie turned to face James. “Captain Albright is coming, is he not?”
“As far as I know.” His gaze fell on Lily. “I had assumed the two of you would arrive together.”
Lily pulled her shoulders back. “Now why would you assume that, James Hawkins?”
“No reason.” He graced her with a lopsided grin. “No reason at all.”
“Except that when you left the churchyard on the captain’s arm”—Reverend Kasper put in—“everyone, including me, thought you two looked like a match made in heaven.”
“What am I to say?” Lily shrugged. “You men are fickle beings.”
“Ah, yes, well, I have heard the same from my lovely wife.”
Mrs. Kasper admonished him with a gape and a playful slap on his arm.
As if on cue, a succession of firm knocks on the front door wafted into the parlor. It seemed Mac had arrived after all. James hurried to let him in.
Lily stared at the fire and tamped down a sudden case of fluttery nerves. Silence fell over the room as the men’s voices drifted in. Then, finally, Mac darkened the doorway. He looked rough, from his crumpled clothing to his whiskery jaw.
“Another guest who chose to walk on this rainy night,” James said, reintroducing everyone for Mac’s benefit. “And, of course, you know our good friend, Lily Laughlin.”
“Miss Laughlin.” Mac gave a hasty bow and barely set eyes on her before following James across the room.
“You know what I think?” Issie leaned close to Lily.
“What?” Lily bent her head to hear.
“I think you’ve terrified the poor fellow.”
Lily’s giggle caused several heads to turn, although not Mac’s. She quickly sucked the smile off her lips. “He’s a weathered seaman who fought in the war,” she whispered to Issie. “A woman would not terrify him.”
“So one would think.” Issie’s hazel eyes reflected the firelight. “But I’m sure there’s room for an exception.”
“It’s just as well anyway. We were only friends.” Lily wondered why she felt like she’d just fibbed. “Besides, after Oliver broke my heart, there’s nothing romantically left for another.”
“Oh, Jehoram! Why must you consistently raise poor Oliver from his grave?”
“I understand his family is suffering from great need. Mr. Ashton can barely tend to his chores because he’s so distraught. Their money is gone. The younger girls have no shoes and they’ll need them in the coming months.” Sorrow settled over Lily. “I wish I could help, but I have nothing to offer.”
“Where did you hear that news?”
“Mr. Everett.” Lily almost hated to cite her source, but the man did overhear much talk, being the town’s innkeeper.
Mrs. Kasper stepped in close. “I heard you make mention of Oliver Ashton.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lily turned her way.
“Mr. Ashton is not there—in the grave.”
“Of course.” Lily inclined her head. “He is with the Lord.”
“No … well, yes.” A moment’s confusion settled on the good woman’s features. “What I meant was Mr. Ashton’s body was never recovered. It’s only a marker in the cemetery.”
Stunned, Lily wondered why she’d never known about it before now.
“His kin wanted it that way,” Mrs. Kasper added. “But if I was not the strong believer I am, I might believe the tale that Oliver Ashton haunts Middletown, as some have suggested.”
“Oh, I believe he does haunt Middletown,” Issie said with a tiny smirk curving her mouth. “Why, not a day goes by that he doesn’t pervade Lily’s thoughts.”
Lily hurled a glance upward. “Oh, hush.”
“Seriously, now …” Mrs. Kasper stepped in so closely that Lily caught a scent of the lavender sprigs in her brunette hair. “Mr. Will Weston, who claims to be the last one to have seen Oliver alive, ran to our home several months back, insisting that he heard Oliver’s continual moaning breeze over the top of North Mountain.”
“And that, of course, would be fiction,” Issie said, looking unimpressed. “Mr. Weston is known to be something of a drunkard.”
Lily nodded in agreement.
“That’s true, although my husband will tell you that there is a deep spiritual side to Mr. Weston. He …” Mrs. Kasper glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure they weren’t overheard. “He sees things.”
“I’m sure he does.” Issie laughed lightly. “After enough libations, any man—or woman—
is a visionary.”
Another giggle bubbled up inside Lily. “In all due respect, Mrs. Kasper, our hostess is correct, especially as it pertains to the matter of Mr. Weston’s bad habit.”
“I agree, and yet I find the tale inexpiably mysterious.”
Lily resisted the urge to shudder. “Oliver Ashton is not alive. If he were, someone in Middletown would have surely seen him—someone who didn’t frequent the many taverns up and down the pike.”
Issie glanced over her shoulder before batting her lashes at Lily. “It would appear, dear friend, that you have recaptured Captain Albright’s attention.”
Mac despised these sorts of social outings, although he knew they were necessary if one wanted to blend into a new community. Truth to tell, he only agreed to the Hawkinses’ dinner invitation because he knew Lily planned to attend.
And that was the problem. Lily was here. Mac needed to stop putting her before his own plans and his very future. Because of her, everything had changed, most predominantly his accommodations. It had not been an easy task, dressing in dingy lighting while rain poured through rotted logs and the sorriest excuse for a roof. Perhaps he’d been hasty, checking out of the Stony Inn, but at least he could boast of a clear conscience. He in no way funded Mr. Everett’s endeavors, which may or may not include his plans for his pretty neighbor.
As for Lily, her effervescent laughter never failed to reach his ears, whether from across a meadow or the Hawkinses’ parlor. How had this happened, and in so short a time?
Blake’s voice clamored for space in his head. Besotted. But Mac refused to succumb to peculiar feelings of the heart now—if ever.
He dragged his fingertips across the stubbly growth quickly overtaking his jaw. He hadn’t attempted to shave for tonight’s dinner event, but plenty of men in Middletown sported beards. Mac just didn’t appreciate the look—or feel—on himself. What a fool he’d been not to pack a razor, but while at the Stony Inn, he’d made daily trips to Mr. Corbin’s shop. Corbin specialized in wig-making, shaving, beard-trimming, dentistry, and blood-letting. Mac rubbed his whiskered jaw once more. Despite Corbin’s quacksalver ways, the man did a close shave, and his shop was only two doors down from the inn. Yes, there had definitely been an advantage to staying in town.
My Heart Belongs in the Shenandoah Valley Page 10
