Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) (5 page)

Afternoon light
shone brightly through the beveled glass of the kitchen windows. Brilliant rays of sunlight catching the natural red highlights in her dark hair. Catherine’s ice blue eyes glanced up towards the ticking clock on the wall and she realized she had been painting for over three hours now. How time escaped her. Catherine stretched her arms and let out a loud yawn, while still holding her paintbrush with her right hand. Catherine exuded exhausted radiance; excitement poured from her eyes in anticipation of the new baby and the upcoming Christmas festivities. Catherine smiled widely, showing a mouthful of white, nearly straight teeth. As she lowered her arms from her stretch, one tiny speck of blue paint dropped onto her bare foot.

"Blast," remarked Catherine as she looked at the paint on her foot.

Catherine walked to the sink and grabbed the worn red checkered dishrag. She attempted to bend over to clean off her foot, but lost her balance and nearly tumbled forward, the weight of her belly pulling her thin body towards the floor. Catherine grabbed a kitchen chair and slowly lowered herself onto the pink and green floral seat cushion. With great effort, she lifted her swollen leg onto the other and wiped the now drying paint off of her foot. Catherine sat for a moment on her chair; she felt relieved to be off of her swollen feet.

After a moment, Catherine rose from the chair and walked over to the oven, dutifully checking on the fresh ham she was making for tonight’s Christmas Eve dinner. Satisfied with the ham’s progress, she closed the oven again, set her faded yellow egg timer for ninety minutes, and walked back to the window. Catherine peered out into the distance and surveyed the valley beyond the house. Her eyes seemed to wander off, becoming glassy and distant, seeing something in her mind that we could not.

A memory played in her mind like a movie that only she could see.

* * *

The farm laid nestled deep in the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania, far from what most modern people would deem civilization. The land was well hidden, tucked away from the busy highways. Privacy was well-maintained by the natural geography of the land, lying in the shadow of the mountains. To the
far west, at the border of the manor lay Croft Lake. To the south and east, trees as far as the eye could see. Set in the midst of Cavegat Forest, the entrance to Fox Hollow was well guarded by the majesty of nature.

There are two ways into Fox Hollow - by train, followed by a five-mile hike, or by driving up Cavegat Pass. The Pass had a reputation. In a word: treacherous.
Cavegat Pass is a daunting stretch of road along the Newland corridor. There is nothing but wilderness on both sides of the road for seventeen secluded miles. The way is winding, steep, and made of dirt and gravel. For roughly three miles you are pinched between the mountain side and an iron guard rail that had seen more winters than Skole County would like to admit.

Jack Morrow had recently received the land as an early inheritance from his father Angus. Old Gus had grown tired of caring for the land, and decided to finally give in to his wife Moira’s pleas to travel. Whenever Gus and Moira weren’t on holiday abroad, they stayed in the guest house on the northwestern corner of the property that overlooked the orchard.

Jack gladly took the manor house and all one hundred and twenty seven acres of land, as well as the huge responsibility of caring for the animals. In all, there were seven horses, nine cows, countless hens and chickens, a herd of sheep, and a seriously obese pot belly pig that Liam affectionately named Ziggy. Add that onto his load of caring for his wife, their four sons with another baby on the way, and two hyper dogs, and you can definitely say Jack had taken on a bit more than he could chew. Fortunately, Jack had help.

Jack took great pride in receiving the estate from his parents. The Morrow family had owned the land for over five generations now. It wasn’t until his first month on the job as Mr. Do-It-All-Myself that Jack realized just how much responsibility he took on. Thankfully his sister Bridgette and her husband Frank had agreed to help out. They inhabited the guest suite on the second floor, while their son Shane slept in the room next door with his cousins.

Catherine loved living at Fox Hollow, for the most part. It reminded her of her childhood summers vacationing in upstate New York, long before her father had accepted the curator position at the Philadelphia Museum of Modern Arts. She enjoyed the calm that the farm provided. She had felt safe there, at first. Jack took great care to make certain that Catherine had a calm pregnancy, free of stress and worry. This was a daunting task, as Catherine was prone to bouts of extreme worrying and paranoia. Even more a complex task was getting their four sons to let her rest during the pregnancy. Her condition was considered high-risk; added stress could be devastating. Today Catherine was quite relaxed. Today was a good day.

Privately, Catherine wished Jack had inherited a property in a warmer climate. Though she loved the farm, she greatly disliked the cold that came with Skole County winters. Catherine succumbed to extreme bouts of loathing when snow decided to fall. On warmer days, Catherine enjoyed painting outside. Her choices of subjects were seemingly endless. Whether it is the lush mountainside covered in trees and laurels, the tranquil valley where the cows lazily chewed their grass, or the winding trails that stretched deep into the thick forest, where she and Jack would ride the horses, and see just how fast they could gallop.

In the spring, Catherine especially enjoyed walking to Croft Lake, on the far northwest corner of the property. She had always been drawn to the picturesque lake. The surface was as smooth as a mirror, not a ripple in sight. Overhead, Mt. Grier loomed, rising above the landscape, providing a breathtaking backdrop. In fairer weather, she would spend hours in the shadow of the mountain, admiring the crystalline reflection of the lake. When the summer sun became too hot, Catherine took refuge in the shade provided by the crab apple trees in the orchard. Often Jack would come out and spend the afternoon with her after a long morning of working in the fields. In the winter months, she was forced to take in the bleak scenery from indoors, and this dampened her spirit significantly.

Catherine's eyes, which had been staring out the kitchen window again, refocused. She blinked a few times as she awoke from her momentary day dream. Her warm breath had begun to fog up the ice cold window. With the sleeve of her dress, she wiped the window in a large, circular motion before peering out again. It was snowing.

Oh, for crying out loud! White Christmases are so overrated!

Snowflakes were beginning to fall from the gray sky. She stared at the snow fluttering to the ground for a few spoiled moments. Then a thought came to her.

The laundry!

When she had put the clothes out that morning, the sun was bright and it was strangely warm for December. Now the sun hid behind the storm clouds, gray and ominous, leaving her fresh laundry cold and stiff. With a start, Catherine hurried into the the den. She grabbed her pink bathrobe and satin bedroom slippers, put both on, and hurried to the front door. She unlocked the deadbolt, and gave the door a pull. Stuck. She braced her foot firmly on the hardwood floor and pulled again. The massive door opened loudly, the hinges in desperate need of some oil. Catherine stepped out into the frigid December air with a shiver. She jogged as fast as a pregnant woman can possibly jog around to the back of the house where the laundry was hanging on the line. Jack would be furious if he knew she was outside. If she hurried, she could finish before he returned.

The flurries danced around Catherine, landing in her long mane of thick hair. She couldn't help but smile. Not even snow could ruin her mood. She began haphazardly pulling clothes off of the line, letting clothes pins fall to the ground.

I'll find them in the spring when this mess thaws.

Catherine grabbed as much as she could carry. When her arms were filled with clothing, she brought them in the house, and came back out for more. In the distance, a blue pickup truck could be seen coming up the long road, winding its way up towards the house. At the sight of the truck, Catherine rushed inside with the rest of the laundry,
slamming the heavy oak door behind her.

She rushed upstairs to the second floor and discarded the laundry onto the bed she occasionally shared with Jack. She turned around and peered in horror at her reflection in the long mirror on the bedroom door. Catherine yelled in frustration; no shoes, no makeup, hair unkempt. Catherine was
not
a sneakers and sweats kind of girl. She refused to let anyone see her in a state of disarray, even her own husband.

She kicked off her slippers and the old pink bathrobe as she began searching the room for a pair of flat dress shoes. Even though she looked perfectly acceptable to an outsider's eye, her fervent pride took over. Catherine began rummaging through her over-crowded closet for an acceptable pair of shoes to put on. She decided on a pair of black mules, attempted to put them on, but was met with resistance. Her foot was too swollen to fit into the shoe.

I'll just go barefoot. That’s better than these hideous slippers!

Catherine looked at the mirror again, and focused on her face. No makeup, dark curls hanging past her shoulders; Catherine now entered panic mode. Quite the natural beauty, she needed no additional assistance from the large makeup case that sat on the shelf inside the medicine cabinet. Stubbornness being one of Catherine's downfalls, you could not dissuade her once she put her mind to something.

Catherine rushed to the bathroom and attempted to open the medicine cabinet, where her makeup bag was stored. Locked. Stubbornly, she tried to open it again. Definitely locked. Frustrated that Jack still didn't trust her enough to leave the medicine cabinet unlocked when he left the house, Catherine squeezed her tiny hands into fists, and pounded them on the white pedestal sink; her thoughts aflame, her rage obvious.

"Damn it, Jack! I'm fine! Really, I am!" Catherine insisted as she glared at herself in the mirror.

Scrutinizing her angry
reflection in the mirror, Catherine became even more frustrated and stormed out into the hallway. A failing muffler sounded just outside the house and Catherine was reminded that she was supposed to be getting ready. Anger washed away from Catherine's face as quickly as it came. She pulled a hair brush through her thick curls, and pulled them into a sleek twist on the back of her head. She then secured her hair with seven bobby pins.

Catherine was tempted to pick the lock with one of her bobby pins, but decided against it.

No need to get him upset.

On Jack's bureau was a small tube of cherry lip balm. She smeared some across her lips, and tossed the tube back on the bureau. Just as she was finishing up, there was a loud series of knocks at the front door. Catherine gave the mirror one last glance, smiled at her reflection, and hurried down the stairs. Before opening the door, Catherine took a deep sigh, winded from rushing around. She smoothed her dress down, and double checked her hair in the hall mirror. As she opened the heavy oak door, disappointment washed over her pretty features.

What the hell are you doing here?

Chapter Three

Elkhart, PA

October 7, 1997

Dawn

"Everybody come on! Let's go!" Jack yelled up the staircase to his kids and nephew. Today it was Jack's duty to get the kids off to school and run errands in town with Adam. Bridgette had already left for her shift at Grier Mountain Medical Center where she was a nurse in the emergency room, and Frank had not returned from his night shift yet. The house was quiet.
Too quiet
. A suspicious look came across Jack's face. By now, he should have heard trampling feet, arguing amongst siblings, or at the very least, someone pretending to be sick so that they could escape the long school day.

Jack grabbed five brown bags out of a kitchen drawer and began to write a child’s names on each. In each bag, Jack stuffed leftover pizza from last night wrapped in tin foil, a juice box, an apple, and a note of encouragement for each
kid. The note is just a light-hearted way for Jack to show his support without expressing emotion, something he simply was not good at. He gave another agitated look towards the empty staircase. Just as he was about to go upstairs with a megaphone and rudely wake everyone up, they came stampeding down the steps, one by one. Tommy was down first, and the others sleepily followed, clearly not looking forward to the school day.

"Everybody in the truck, Gus and Grandma aren't back yet. They are still in Scotland... or is it Stockholm? I don't remember. Anyway, we're grabbing breakfast on the way."

"They are in St. Petersburg, and they'll be back late tonight," Tristan reminded her father.

“Russia? You’d think I wou
ld remember something like that.”