Whispers from the Past (41 page)

Yeah. That too.

I glanced behind me to the foyer. The others had disappeared. They wouldn’t witness this. Smart people.

My hands traced from her back to her shoulders to her neck. Then I closed my eyes and
felt this moment
. It was my birthday. It’d been seven months and seven days since she’d abandoned me. There had been no contact. No opportunity to argue or beg.

Fury flashed through me. I stared at her with an emotion so hot and fierce that my body shook. “How long will you stay this time, Susanna?”

“That is for you to decide.”

Holy shit. Did she think she could just wander back into my house, and it was okay to sound so calm? “What if I told you to leave?”

“I would go.” There was a catch in her voice. A not-socalm reaction to my question.

Why was I wasting our time on something as unproductive as anger? I loved every part of her and always would. “What if I ask you to never leave me again?”

“I would stay by your side forever.”

I studied her serene expression. Her even breathing. Her still form against mine. It was all normal Susanna.

Except her eyes. They flickered with something that tugged at my heart. She was scared.

She didn’t need to be.

“Are you staying here tonight?” I asked.

“Yes. In the apartment over the garage. If you don’t object.”

Hell, no. I linked my fingers through hers and took off to find the others.

My family was outside on the deck. When the back door opened, there was instant silence. Everyone turned our way expectantly.

“Mom,” I said. “Did you have anything planned for my birthday?”

“Of course, Mark.” She frowned at me, as if the question was insulting. “Your favorite dinner. Cake. Presents.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow? I need to be alone with Susanna.”

Granddad laughed. “That’s my boy.”

Mom opened her mouth, probably to object, until Dad grabbed her arm and spoke instead. “Sure, son. That’s fine.”

My hand firmly clasping Susanna’s, I ran inside with her and up the stairs. Once we were in the studio apartment, I slammed the door shut, leaned against it, and hauled her back into my arms.

“Please,” I whispered against her lips. This was heaven, and it was only the beginning.

She broke the kiss and looked up at me, eyes widened, lips trembling. “Mark, tell me your decision quickly. I cannot bear it any longer.”

“What decision, babe?”

She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Will you let me stay?”

Really? Could there be any doubt?

“That decision was made from the moment I met you.” I pressed a kiss to her mouth that was more like a vow. “I want forever.”

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

No author writes in a void. There are numerous people who help. I could list hundreds of friends (most I know but some I don’t) who pitched in. Thank you all, but allow me to express my deepest gratitude: to my sassy friends and java club, thanks for asking for news and celebrating my journey; to my writing buddies in RomVets, RWA, Rubies, HCRW, and Retreaters for having my back; to my extended family for loving me anyway; to those who patiently answered questions, like Mark, Tom, Chris, Mike, Jan, Angie, Kathi, Llewellyn, Linda; to the staff at Spencer Hill Press for teaching me how to be a better writer, especially Laura, Jessica, and Rich; to my agent extraordinaire Kevan Lyon; but mostly, to my daughters and husband—for understanding that writing is a family commitment, one that you have shouldered with grace and love.

A
UTHOR
N
OTES

Whispers from the Past
is a work of fiction, yet so many of the twists and turns sprang from actual events. One of the most delightful parts of historical research is how the past is just brimming with stories, wanting to be told. Whenever I needed a new plot point or a unique shading to a scene, I only had to peer into North Carolina’s history to find the truth waiting for me.

It is hard to know precisely what the life of an indentured servant would’ve been like. They rarely left behind written documents, and their masters wouldn’t have found a servant’s life interesting enough to notice or record. Fortunately, there were stories to be discerned in the court cases, indentures, wills, and marriage/cohabitation records.

When I needed a way for Susanna to return to the past and clear her name, history handed it to me. I found the answer while researching court dockets. Susanna could make a petition for poor conditions. As I alluded to in the book, the state of Pennsylvania has online records that offer incredible insight into the process of indentured servants requesting new masters. After a visit to the North Carolina State Archives to review dockets and proceedings from the Courts of Pleas and Quarter Sessions, it was plausible to believe that Susanna, with the aid of a highly regarded (if fictional) senator, might have prevailed in a similar petition.

Regarding the timing of the 1805 spring court session, it did not happen on April 22nd as I stated in this book. Most spring court sessions did occur in April, but the primary sources appear to indicate that the 1805 session was pushed into May. I chose to keep it in April, to accommodate the timing of the “terrible tempest” that would destroy the fictional village of Worthville.

The tornado that roared through Wake County in 1805 was real, as was the uncertainty over the date of the storm. I took that anomaly directly from the
Raleigh Register
, dated May 20, 1805. As Susanna noted in the book, the newspaper article reported that “an hurricane” took place on Sunday the fifteenth [of May], even though May 15, 1805 fell on a Wednesday. It is a curious mistake and worth exploiting in this story.

The marriage records that Susanna uses in this book are a composite of what I was able to discover at the State Archives. Coastal counties (such as New Bern’s Craven County) had marriage records from the late eighteenth century. However, the State Archives only have Wake County marriage registers dating from the middle of the nineteenth century. Interestingly, Wake County does have cohabitation records and divorce records available from the early nineteenth century.

In colonial America, before the War for Independence, trained physicians were hard to find. Women would have served in the roles of nurses, midwives, and healers. Some of the better known healers would have had secret remedies (also known as recipes or receipts). Abigail Eton, a fictional character in the
Whisper Falls
series, would have been admired for her nearly supernatural abilities in the healing arts. Raised on a plantation, Abigail would have studied under her mother, the mistress of the plantation, and honed her medical skills by caring for the family, servants, and slaves.

Whispers from the Past
concludes the
Whisper Falls
trilogy. I hope that you’ve enjoyed reading about the journeys of Mark and Susanna as much as I have enjoyed writing about them. They’ve given us the opportunity to observe and experience the past—to understand and embrace its facts while not forgetting the truth of what it tells us. We have much to be proud of in our history and much to vow that we will never repeat.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

Elizabeth lives in North Carolina (mid-way between the beaches and the mountains) with two daughters, one husband, and too many computers. When she’s not writing software or stories, Elizabeth loves to travel, watch dance reality shows, and argue with her family over which restaurant to visit next.
Whispers from the Past
is the third book in the
Whisper Falls
series.