Songs of the Shenandoah (3 page)

Clare propped her palms on her waist. “What a sight is this! Your clothes are all but ruined and you most assuredly have caught a chill. And what . . . what are you hiding there?”

The child shook her head and appealed to her aunt Cait with sappy brown eyes for some sort of support, which, as always, she was all too willing to provide.

Caitlin bent over and carefully opened the girl's apron and peeked in. “Well if those aren't the most well-formed snowballs I've ever seen. May I?” When Ella nodded, Caitlin pulled out one of the white frozen orbs and held it up with reverence as if it were hand chipped from marble.

“Do you know the effort we've gone to get this house and you decorated in the spirit of Christmas?” Clare glared at her sister who had her hands to her lips, her mouth threatening to open in laughter. “And you are villain as well for your encouragement.” Clare turned to her daughter. “Now what madness would cause you to go out in the storm . . . dressed as such, and bring those . . . snowballs into this home, young lady?”

Ella bit her lip and glanced over to her brother and then Caitlin. “I fetched them for Garret. It will make his eye feel better.”

The words pierced Clare's matronly scowl, and she rubbed her hand on her face. Then she bent down with a deep breath of apology and kissed Ella on her head. “And that, my kind heart, is why we named you after your grandmama.”

She glanced back out the window to see if the carolers remained, but they had moved on and the snow now drifted down in heavy flakes with the flutter of butterflies. “Oh dear, I hope it will be safe to travel. To come all of the way from California, thousands of miles, only to perish in the streets of New York City on their way from the harbor.”

“Seamus, the mountain man turned pastor, and young Davin the famed gold miner?” Caitlin exchanged a look with Clare and they both laughed. “How could they stray? One finds lost souls and the other lost treasures.”

“We certainly could use strengthening of both our faith and fortunes.” Clare glanced at the clock on the wall. “Andrew, Andrew, my dear husband, why are you taking so long?”

Just at that moment, a clamor came from the front entranceway and both of the children went running for the door.

“Oh my, they are here.” Clare fanned her face with her hand, suddenly feeling flush.

Clare entered the hallway just as Andrew walked in through the door, his tall frame bent over while toting two large cases, with a smaller one tucked under his arm. He lumbered over and set them down noisily, then he removed his round spectacles, swept his hand through his blond hair, and shook snow from it to the floor.

Behind him came a woman, who even through her travel weariness, was eloquent with her chartreuse dress, black feathered hat, and long auburn curls draping down.

“You must be Ashlyn.” Clare met the woman's large brown eyes, held out her arms, and embraced her. She wanted dearly to kiss the woman on the cheek in joy. Was this not the dear creature who had transformed Seamus's life? Could there be a greater angel?

Clare held her firmly for a few moments, and when she pressed back she saw a young girl in the doorway, who she knew to be almost thirteen, disheveled by the journey and seeming overwhelmed by the attention.

Caitlin stepped up and hugged the girl. “And this is Grace?”

Footsteps could be heard and Clare's heart leapt with anticipation and she began to cry and covered her mouth. Carrying several cases himself was her brother Seamus, and Andrew grabbed the cases from him and set them down with the others.

Seamus stood up straight, dusting off snow from the sleeves of his black wool coat, and he appeared to Clare as handsome as ever with his slender build, long black sideburns, and the effervescent blue Hanley eyes. She tried to avoid looking at the scar on the side of his cheek, which was surprisingly tame considering it had been the result of a branding iron—his punishment for being a deserter in the war with Mexico.

His face erupted in a broad smile, and his arms outstretched. “Come here you, my precious oldest.” When Clare came, he pulled her in and lifted her from her feet as she hooted and cried. Then he reached out and drew in Caitlin as well.

There were some grunting noises and then a man's voice. “Where should these go?”

Clare looked up to see two carriage drivers backing in a couple of leather-strapped trunks piled on top of each other.

“Right here, I'll help you with that.” Andrew guided them to the far edge of the hallway. “We'll stack them neatly. What do we have? About four or five more trips?”

One of the carriage drivers who was short with silver hair rubbed his hands together for warmth. “At least that and probably more.”

Clare laughed. “Well, I suppose you would have quite a bit of baggage.”

“Oh no.” Seamus pointed to the bags he carried in. “Those few there are the only ones that are ours. We had to hire a separate carriage to bring in your little brother's belongings.”

“Davin?” Clare peered out the door as the breeze carried in a flurry of snowflakes. “Where is he?”

“Meeting a bloke of his.” Seamus gave Ashlyn a knowing glance, and she pursed her elegant lips and lowered her head. “His business partner as it is. Said he would be a tad late for sup and was hoping it wouldn't be a bother to your plans.”

Clare noticed Seamus wasn't wearing a minister's collar. Perhaps it was too uncomfortable for the long voyage. “Of course we won't mind.”

Seamus tugged on the fingers of his glove to take them off. “Seeing as my little brudder tabbed our trains, coaches, and ferries, it was no discomfort to carry his bags.” Seamus cleared his throat. “Have we been properly acquaintanced?” He bent down and extended a hand to Garret, who along with his sister was standing somewhat in awe of their new guests.

Garret shook the hand meekly and Ella took a step back, subdued with her shyness.

Clare was reminded how deeply she cared for Seamus. Since he was a boy and was tormented so by their father, she was the one who always intervened, who understood his thoughts, and who ached when he did.

Which was why she was concerned as she watched him interact with her children. Something was wrong. He hadn't shared it in any of his recent letters, and he was always capable of covering up his problems with Irish cheer.

But she could tell. There was a sadness behind the curtains of his soul.

Chapter 2

The Dinner

“Do you think we should send after him?” Clare didn't know whether she was more angry or worried. After all of these years apart, why wouldn't Davin want to come directly to see them all?

They had finished dinner more than an hour ago, cleaned up the table and kitchen, and since moved to the sitting parlor, where they rested in the faded upholstered chairs and couches. Muriel, who appeared the part of an Irish maid, with her young face, red hair, and white apron, served everyone evening tea.

What a gift from God Muriel had been to the Royce family! With their inability to afford to hire any help, they were so fortunate to discover this sharp-witted treasure, who provided her precious assistance with the children and the house chores in exchange for lodging and board. She had only been here for a couple of months but had already become part of the clan.

Andrew glanced up from the fire he was lighting. “Would you like me to go out and about to see if we can find your brother?”

“Where would you start?” Clare looked to Seamus sitting on a couch with Ashlyn, who sat with proper Southern elegance. “Did Davin inform you of where he was heading?”

Seamus held out a cup and saucer to Muriel, and once it was filled with the steaming fluid, he handed it his wife. “I wouldn't go fussing about Davin. How old was he when you last saw him? Eleven, right?”

Ashlyn rolled her eyes, dipped a spoon in the sugar bowl, and then lifted it to her cup. “Your little Davin is now quite a dandified man.”

“But I quite liked him the way he was.” Clare sighed. “Is he that changed?”

“'Fraid so.” Seamus smiled. “One day he was this kind, considerate, and innocent boy, and then suddenly, well, you'll find out soon enough.”

“How unkind of you, Seamus.” Caitlin frowned. “Didn't you say he covered the cost of your travel?”

Seamus lifted Ashlyn's hand and caressed it. “Oh, I love my little brudder well enough, that's for certain. Why, he stowed away on a ship for many thousand miles, just to seek me out. And find me he did.” He looked at his wife. “It's just . . . we worry about him. Since . . . you know.”

Ashlyn grinned. “I believe my husband is about to preach his most famous sermon. And a most unpopular one in the foothills of the Sierra range.”

Seamus lowered his head and clasped his hands. “Thins out the congregation a bit when you preach about the evils of the yellow rock in gold country of all places.”

“It seems we're all preaching something unpopular these days.” Andrew put his arm around Clare. “My wife pontificates with the pen. She has become the voice of abolition. Must be a Hanley tradition to row upstream as they throw rocks from the banks. Even Caitlin is of service to the Underground Railroad.”

“The Underground Railroad?” Surprise laced Ashlyn's tone.

“Yes.” Clare looked for disapproval in the woman's face. Ashlyn remained a mystery to her. Was she the source of her brother's melancholy? “Caitlin has been part of the movement for years. Why, even Muriel has taken interest in it as of late.”

Muriel shook her head. “I've merely attended a few meetings.” She placed the teapot on the table, sat beside Caitlin, and folded her brown cotton dress beneath her.

“And,” Clare added, “Muriel's been assisting us at the newspaper as well. Our sweet lady here holds many surprises.” She lifted her teacup and eyed her sister-in-law. “What about you, Ashlyn? Seamus boasts about you in his letters. And of your baby orphanage.”

Ashlyn withdrew her hand from Seamus. “Yes. But unfortunately that . . . was closed, I am sad to say.”

Seamus winced. “The crash in San Francisco was difficult for all of us. Banks closed. Merchants failed. Donations were a wee chore to come by. And this was at the same time that I . . . well, we . . . thought it was time to move closer to the mountains. Seek out a new ministry.”

“Yes.” Ashlyn took Seamus's hand again and rubbed it. She met Clare's probing gaze. “You would have been proud of your brother. Never has a man put so much braveness in trying to start a church.”

Unspoken questions hung in the air as a lull lingered for a few awkward moments.

“And what a wonderful father he has been to Grace.” Ashlyn glanced into her husband's eyes with adoration.

Clare had misjudged the woman and instantly felt bonded to their shared mission. “She is a beautiful young lady, your Grace. You've both done admirably in raising her.”

“We've had our brushes as well due to the financial crash.” Andrew tossed a log in the fire, which was struggling to keep the room warm. He dusted his hands and stood. “You are not alone with that one. Devastated not only our newspaper, but nearly wiped out Clare's favorite paper supplier.”

Clare snorted. “Oh, Andrew. You are a terrible tease.” She looked to her brother and Ashlyn. “He is referring to a certain fondness I have for Cyrus Field.”

Seamus snapped his fingers. “Isn't that . . . man . . . who—?”

“Yes,” Clare answered. “The bedlamite, as he has been referred to as well as many other unmentionable slanders. His dream is to lay working telegraph wire from Ireland to Newfoundland.”

Andrew leaned against the mantelpiece. “If it wasn't for Clare's stories in the
Daily
urging the poor fellow on with such pomp and bravado about the ‘most noble pursuit of the nineteenth century,' I'm sure he would have long ago returned to his proper place in the world of reducing trees to paper.”

“As you can see, my husband chooses to join in the easy sport of mocking dear Mr. Field. But one day, Cyrus and I will have our say.”

A large clattering sounded behind them in the room and they stood up startled with a few gasps.

“What's that?” Caitlin said. “A thief on Christmas Eve?”

The noise came from the window at the rear of the room. Andrew lifted the poker from the fireplace and held it out before him and stepped forward in the dim lighting.

Chapter 3

The Breeze in the Room