by Janet Cooper
When her guests walked inside, Luke stared at the room, taking in every niche and corner.
Dylan ambled around before heading toward the hearth and Sarah’s collection of household tools, both antiques and reproductions. He inspected them, then turned and looked at his dad. “Tell me the story.”
“What story?” Sarah asked, glancing from son to father.
“The one about our ancestors, a Lenape brave and a Quaker lady,” Luke said, looking at her, “and this tavern.” He stared at Dylan. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”
“If you have any knowledge about the inn or the people connected with the tavern, please share the stories,” Sarah said. “Why don’t we sit at the table and I pour us a glass of apple cider, while you tell us?”
“Yeah!” Dylan said.
“You’re sure?”
Feeling a little hungry, Sarah said in all honesty, “Absolutely. How about a slice or two of gingerbread?”
“I love gingerbread,” said the boy, “and Daddy can’t make it.”
“Have you asked your mommy?” Sarah asked as she occupied herself pouring cider and getting plates for the gingerbread.
“My mommy went away a long time ago. Did she make me gingerbread, Daddy?” The child focused his attention on his father.
“You were still eating baby food when your mother left.” Luke’s voice held a hint of bitterness, but no sign of regret.
Feeling embarrassed, Sarah placed the cake on small paper napkins.
The boy’s attention centered on the food and he started eating and didn’t reply.
“My ex and I have been divorced since Dylan was one. We men do things together. Right, pal?” Luke tousled the lad’s dark, almost black hair.
The boy nodded vigorously, but never stopped chewing.
Since she wanted to hear the tale regarding the tavern’s history, Sarah said, “Tell us about the tree and your ancestors.”
Swallowing a very large bite, Dylan said, “Yeah, Daddy. Tell us.”
Luke smiled. “This story is part family legend and part history,” he said as if needing to explain what he was about to say.
“Cool!” Sarah leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands.
“During the early days of the Revolutionary War …”
“The British fought the Americans around here,” Dylan said, glancing at Sarah.
“Wow! You’re smart!”
Dylan beamed.
“But if the smart guy isn’t quiet, his father won’t tell the tale,” Luke said in a gentle, but reproving manner.
The boy grinned, obviously not disturbed by the threat.
“The ancestors, Dylan wants to hear about, were a three-quarter Lenape named Silver Wolf and a woman called Sarah Stone. They met in this tavern and fell in love.”
Hearing the Lenape’s name, Sarah trembled. Eerie shivers coursed through her whole body.
“Yuck,” the child said. “Forget the mushy stuff.”
“The ‘mushy stuff’ is important to the story. Are you going to listen or do are you going to continue to interrupt so I can’t finish?” Luke spoke softly, but firmly.
“Listen.” Dylan rested his arms on the table and laid his head on top.
Sarah sat forward, eager to hear more about a woman who shared her first name and a man whose name caused goose bumps to rise on her arms.
Luke started again. His storytelling voice captured his son’s attention and Dylan settled down to listen. Sarah understood the child’s rapt interest, for as Luke spoke she could ‘see and hear’ the people he described. What a wonderful talent he has. She could almost picture herself as her colonial namesake fighting for the man she loved and his community. An odd sense of pride filled her. While the description of the British corporal filled her with anger and trepidation permeated her soul.
“So there they were,” Luke said, his voice building in intensity. “Benjamin Stone and Mistress Westcoat tied up under the tree, the bond boy, turned army scout, staked to a fence post, Sarah Stone trying to shake off dizziness, and Silver Wolf with a rope around his neck.”
All during the tale, Sarah had pictured each scene in her head. Several times, she could almost believe she was living or perhaps reliving the actual situation. Luke Sykes's words had captured her attention completely, molding the story and the characters into vivid images. When the story ended, Sarah experienced a feeling of sadness, almost as if she wanted the tale to continue. Dylan interrupted her thoughts.
"Can I go outside and play?" the child asked.
"If your father doesn't object," Sarah said.
Luke shook his head. "But don't leave the yard."
"There's a swing tied to one of the trees around the side of the house," Sarah offered.
"Can I climb the oak?" Dylan asked.
Sarah glanced at his father, who nodded. "Sure."
The boy raced outside.
From the table, she could see the child trying to decide how he would reach the first branch ten feet over his head.
Sarah looked back at Luke. "Thank you for sharing that wonderful story. I can't believe how involved I felt." She shook her head in wonderment. "What part is the truth?" she asked.
"I'm not sure I know which is which anymore," he responded.
Dylan charged back into the house. "I can't climb the tree. The branches are too high."
"Why not go on the swing?" Luke asked.
"Will you push?" came the quick retort.
"I will," offered Sarah, putting out her hand.
He placed his small one in hers. "I like you."
"And I like you."
They strolled out together and Luke followed behind. Sarah enjoyed being with them.
Once Dylan climbed on the swing, she pushed from behind, while Luke stood in front and shoved the child backwards. The boy giggled with glee as he flew through the air.
Sarah enjoyed his laughter, and the smiles the child's father sent her filled her with joy.
Finally, Luke said, "Dylan, we've occupied enough of Sarah's time."
A sense of loss filled her. "You haven't seen the house," she said.
"That's right, Daddy."
"Okay, but then we must leave."
She showed them through the upstairs and ended her tour in front of the map. After explaining how she had received the old print, she asked, "Do you think this might have been the one Sarah knew was flawed?"
"I bet it was," said Dylan.
"It adds a little more interest to the story, but who knows? But I can tell you that the words are written in Lenape. Unfortunately, I can’t read it because the ink has faded." Turning to his son, he said, "We must go."
"Oh, Daddy, do we have to?"
"Yes, but if you would like and if Sarah's available," Luke glanced at her, "perhaps she can come on Sunday and have dinner with us at Long Meadow."
He had mentioned the plantation when he told the tale. For some bizarre reason, the name projected peace and serenity. "You still own your family's property?" she asked, awed at the idea.
"Only a very small parcel. Over the years, most of the land was sold. Fortunately, my ancestors kept the house and a few acres."
"How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I'd love to come and see it. Shall I bring the map? Perhaps if we remove the glass and use a magnifying glass you might be able to read what’s written?"
"I was hoping you would want to see me, us, as well. And, yes definitely bring the map," Luke stated, boldly.
She flushed. "What else can I bring?"
"Gingerbread," said Dylan.
I hope you enjoyed my story. Allowing characters to ‘speak’ is one of the best parts of writing. Check out my Facebook page at Janet Cooper for additional information about becoming an author.
Please look for the following books also available via Kindle:
MOONCUSSER, a historical romance mystery taking place in the 1790’s, involving an officer in the original Coast Guard and a woman, whose brother is i
nvolved with the ship-wreckers, the government wants to stop.
INDEPENDENCE, a historical mystery, romance set during the writing of the Constitution. Two independent people who strive to overthrow the bounds that tie them to a conventional lifestyle.
For a contemporary romance mystery, check out SECRETS OF THE LOWCOUNTRY.
The above book is the first in a series taking place in the Lowcountry of South Carolina.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
PROLOGUE - PRESENT DAY
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
EPILOGUE
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
