Songs of the Shenandoah (5 page)

Ashlyn's body clenched beside him. “Child, guard the way you talk to your father. He lost his brother and mother and father during those hard times.”

Grace met her father's gaze, and her hard demeanor melted as it always did at some point. She lifted her worn shoes and looked down. “I'm sorry, Da.” She raised her eyes to both her parents. “I can be awful at times, can't I?”

Seamus smiled and wondered if he could ever love her more. How would he be able to protect her as she was becoming such a beautiful young lady?

Grace narrowed her eyes and glanced to the side. “Do you think they'll like me here?”

“Who? The other children?” Seamus loved being her father, especially when she was vulnerable. “And how did you get your name?”

She shook her head. “Because . . . I am grace from God.”

“And who doesn't want—?” Ashlyn began.

“Yes,” Grace smiled begrudgingly, “who doesn't want grace from God?”

“So?” Seamus raised his brow. “What color horse will you get?”

Grace looked up and pursed her lips. “Oh, let's see. Perhaps black. No. Brown. Definitely brown.”

“Ahhh.” Seamus shook his head. “Such a pity. A true Irishwoman would only fancy a gray mare.”

The coachman shouted and veered the vehicle to the right, then the road got decidedly rougher and they bounced about.

“Now I am feeling as if we're in Ireland,” Seamus said.

Ashlyn gave a squeal and clapped. “We're here!”

They all crowded around her to peer out, and the carriage drew down a long pathway leading up to a large white home with black shutters and a red-brick base. Although the fields were barren from the season, they seemed surprisingly well kept.

“It's lovely.” Ashlyn put her hand over her mouth. “And my old swing is still hanging from that oak tree.”

“It's lonely looking.”

Seamus couldn't argue with Grace's description. He was wrestling with the strange irony of him, of all people, returning to life on a farm. When he left the Hanley family potato fields more than fourteen years earlier, it was in full expectation he would never lift a hoe or bury a grain of seed again.

It wasn't that he was against difficult labor—Seamus had become a hard worker. The challenge was the fields returned him back to all of those difficult memories and emotions of growing up with his father, Liam. His old man was more a prisoner to his responsibilities on the generations-old Hanley farm, and he took his misery and frustration out on his children. And chief among them Seamus, his oldest son.

As a boy, Seamus's response was to flee whenever possible, and any free moment from his duties on his father's farm, he would spend as far away as possible.

So he felt in no position to argue Grace's response to this decision to return to Ashlyn's home. In some ways, he felt it was some type of divine justice for the poor decisions he made back in California, which had taken his family on such a difficult path.

The carriage halted, and with a few groans the driver labored down from his bench. Before he had made it to the door handle, Ashlyn already turned it and pushed it outward.

“Here we are, folks,” the gray-haired man said with more formality than cheer. “Whittington Farms.”

“Are you familiar with this area?” Ashlyn received the man's wrinkled hand and stepped down. She straightened her dress, a simple green cotton she chose for the comfort of the ride.

“A neighborhood or two away.” He pointed in a direction southward. “Close enough certainly to know of Ryland Whittington.”

“I didn't realize you knew of my father.” Ashlyn's voice was already changing, as if the air itself was bringing back her sweet drawl that had faded in California.

The man climbed up the side ladder of the carriage and unstrapped the belts tying down their few items of luggage. “He was a hardworking man, Ryland was. Did well enough on this farm, he did. Although your daddy never kept it any secret he would rather be hunting for gold.”

“That was Daddy.” Ashlyn stood up on her toes and drank in the view of the fields and the mountains as if it were a cool glass of water. She put her hands on Seamus's cheeks and kissed him.

“What happened to him, if I may ask?” The driver threw two of the straps down below, and then tugged on the larger case.

“Let me help with that.” Seamus reached up and braced himself to receive them as they were handed down. They didn't have much, but the cases were heavy.

“My mama passed.” Ashlyn began in a way that Seamus could tell she was measuring her words. As far as Grace knew, Seamus was her father, and this would be no time to explain to a stranger that Ashlyn left her hometown pregnant. “When she did, my father had nothing restraining him from the golden hills of San Francisco.”

The driver stepped down and placed his hands in the small of his back and moaned. He looked to both Ashlyn and Seamus expectantly. “Not to be too particular, as this is a small town and we've got too much time not to meddle in others' affairs. So . . . what about the rumors? Were they true?”

“Pardon me?” Seamus couldn't believe the man had posed such a question. Ashlyn had believed the scandal of Grace's illegitimacy had been kept a secret.

The man stepped back, seemingly surprised by Seamus's sudden shift in demeanor. “The gold? Did he find his gold?”

“Oh.” Ashlyn let out a deep sigh. “Yes. He did quite well.”

Seamus pulled his billfold out from his jacket. “Which unfortunately for both us and you, never made it in our hands.” He thumbed through the dollars and counted out the amount owed. How much would that leave them? It seemed like a fair amount of money, but this would have to last them through the rest of winter and be enough to start a harvest.

The driver flashed an expression of professional disappointment and then took the bills and put them in his breast pocket. He tipped his hat and, with a few more complaints about some unknown pains in his body, was soon pulling away and his carriage became a shadow in the fading sunlight.

“Where's the barn?” Grace's eyes scanned the grounds.

Ashlyn gave him a “look what you've started” glance, and Seamus smiled and put his arm around his daughter's shoulder. “I told you we'd get you a horse. I didn't say anything about giving your horse a house.”

Seamus suddenly laughed.

Ashlyn leaned into him. “What are you laughing about?”

“Tell us.” Grace put her head on his other shoulder.

Should he share the memory that flashed before him? “Well . . . you know when I was living in the mountains of Colorado? And I first came across the stagecoach that was carrying mail and had crashed and—”

“Yes, Da.” Grace rolled her eyes. “And you found Ma's photograph, the one you always carry in your pocket.”

He gave her a playful squeeze. “And the horse—”

“The one you stole.”

“Maybe you should tell the story, dear.”

“Go ahead. We're listening.”

“Well . . . that night.” Seamus bit his lip. He was surprised this was making him emotional. “Your father was so lonely without the two of you in my life. I was going to have the horse stay in my cabin with me.”

Grace leaned back. “That's weird. Some stories you just shouldn't just tell.”

“The point is, young lady, that I love you two very much.” The words coming to him were surprising because they were ones he hadn't used in a while. “And I believe we're exactly where God wants us to be. A new start. With my favorite people in the world. And me . . . Seamus Hanley. A farmer!”

“I love you.” Ashlyn kissed him on the cheek. “Even when you're lying to me.”

This moment was one of the first times they had been alone together for quite some time. Holding each other close was not only intimate, but it fought off the rising chill of the cool air.

Suddenly he noticed something strange, and his pulse spiked. “Ashlyn?”

“Yes, love?”

“I thought you said this farm was abandoned.”

“Yes. It is.”

Both Ashlyn and Grace followed his gaze and now all three were staring at what alarmed him. The breeze abruptly shifted toward them, the smell clearly evident.

Smoke rose from the chimney.

Chapter 5

The Owners

Seamus's protective instincts came to life and he stepped in front of his wife and daughter.

“Seamus?” Ashlyn's voice shook.

“You did say there was no one living here?”

“There hasn't been . . . for . . . my uncle died a year ago.” Her auburn brows narrowed.

“Either the house is on fire . . . or someone is inside.” This whole trip could not be yet another one in his long line of mistakes. “And this is the right house?”

Ashlyn dipped her head and crossed her arms.

He held his palms up and shrugged. “It's just a wee bit strange.” Seamus could see the concern rising in Grace's expression, who had moved close to her mother. “It will be nothing. You'll see. There is certainly a simple explanation.”
There must be an explanation! Please, Lord, don't have this go wrong.
He moved toward the entranceway.

“Seamus, please be careful.”

He stepped up to the front window and peered inside. There was furniture in place, but no sign of anyone moving about. And there was a definite flicker of light coming from an adjacent room.

He looked back to Ashlyn and shrugged. Seamus came to the large black door and rapped the bronze clapper. Rather than being rusted or worn, it was shined to a bright polish.

Nothing. He knocked again. Seamus tested the handle and it freely opened, the door ajar.

“Should you really enter?” Ashlyn crept forward with Grace at her hip. “Maybe we should just go.”

“Where? We'll freeze out here.” He didn't wait for a response. Seamus stepped inside. Almost immediately, he thought he saw a shadow flash by at the other end of the hallway.

“Hello? Who goes there? I've seen you. Will you please speak up?”

The home wasn't imposing from the outside, but it appeared rather spacious for a country home now that he was standing on the creaking oak floorboard. A winding staircase led up to a second floor, which was too dark to see clearly. The hallway led in both directions, but it was from the left where the light was flickering against the walls.

In front of him was an empty coatrack, with a wooden cane leaning beside it. Seamus lifted the cane and tested it in his hand for balance. It was too light to serve much as a weapon, but it gave him some comfort to grip it.

Although he had been a minister for several years now, it was his experience from serving in the Mexican War that now pulsed through his veins. And with memories recalled of real terror he had endured, he was able to calm his nerves and move forward.

“Please come out. Whoever you are. There must be a misunderstanding of some sort. My wife is a Whittington, and we have come to reclaim our home.”

With cautious steps, he approached the flashing of light in the adjoining room, and as he passed the entranceway, he saw it was well appointed with an elegantly styled couch and cushioned chairs. On the walls were carefully hung paintings, and one of the portraits was of Ashlyn's father, Ryland, and what must have been her mother, Hazel. Her parents appeared young and vibrant, and he was struck in particular by the posture and poise of Mrs. Whittington, who stared at him with Ashlyn's brown eyes.

Would she have approved of Seamus? What an odd thought to have in such a moment.

There in the center of the room was the stone hearth where some freshly placed logs crackled with greenness and appealing warmth.

Seamus heard a sound.

A woman whispering.

Stepping out from the darkness of the room was a black face, barely discernible in the diminished light. It was hardened, scarred, with a gray-stubbled face and tight curls. The eyes glaring through the shadows were proud but worn as well.

“I'm sorry, sir.” The voice was graveled, but there was a softness to it that seemed ill-suited to such a mask. “We ain't been expecting no one. Nobody done tell us there were more Whittingtons.”

“Come.” Seamus beckoned with his curled fingers. “Step into the light so I can see you plainly.”

The man did as he was told, wearing jeans, a white cotton shirt, and suspenders. He lowered his head as if he had learned not to look anybody straight in the eyes. At this point, Seamus realized there was another set of brown eyes behind him, these also subdued with weariness. It was a woman whose weathered skin and silvered hair appeared to make her equal in age to the man. And there was a familiarity to her appearance as well.

“It's all right, Seamus.” He was surprised to see Ashlyn had come in the house behind him and his anger rose, until she laid her hand on his shoulder. “I know them.” Her tone shifted from caution to surprise. “Mavis?”