Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

distraction did much to ease my mind over Uncle’s losses. And mine.

The horses, as I understood it, were to butter our bread. When would that be? I wonder if there will be bread, let alone a roof to shelter us.

I swirled the tea in my cup, watching the cyclone of leaves spin and then, finally, rest at the bottom.

Chapter 21

JAMES CAREFULLY LIFTED each surviving piece of furniture, loading them as gently as he could. Dorothy’s things were no doubt a link to the home she longed for. How often had he sat on a certain fireside bench and recalled boyhood days—warming his toes after hours in the snow, remembering the one time his father sat with him to roast nuts without the help of servants... Sentimental memories, for certain.

Things could always be replaced, but sometimes special pieces rooted deeply into the heart. One day, it wouldn’t matter if he had that bench or not. But why allow a grieving lass to lose every link to her past?

Amazing that her side of the house stood at all. To think they might have been killed. He thought of Helen and Kirsten and how they shared ill opinions of Dorothy and him. How little they understood, how little they’ve lost in life. At least Ernest believed his version.

He hauled a braided rug and heaved her desk onto the wagon bed. There had been attic boxes as well. He’d have to get those too if renovations were going to start anytime soon.

MAY 17, 1880

Dear Dorothy,

We won’t be joining you at Cedar Gate. We prefer to stay with Papa while he recovers.

Helen and Kirsten

How dare they write to me at all? Such a sparse and incomplete letter. I wonder how many they’d written from their true feelings and tossed into the fireplace. I’ve spent these many hours weeping. I dare not show myself at breakfast.

I’d go to my cousins, but they do not want me. I’d seen such hope for our friendship. How quickly it slipped away! I wonder, if, with careful kindness, we may regain what we’d begun to share? That Uncle will give up his silly notions and fears...Finally deal full-face with the truth.

A bell has rung and the family dog is barking. I looked outside the window. Mr. Bleu arrived with my things! I dressed and ran to the door to greet him.

SHE’D BEEN CRYING. Nothing could hide that. They hauled the last piece of her meager collection into an empty stall in the barn. She’d inadvertently reached a hand out when her desk passed by. He could guess its importance.

“Enjoying your stay here?”

“My hosts are more than kind.” She tried to smile, but her lip turned down into an uncontrolled frown. She looked away until she’d righted herself.

“Listen, I’ve taken care to bring as much as I figured is yours. If there’s anything missing, please let me know.”

She nodded.

“Oh, and there’s still the attic boxes. Easy to tell them apart since they’re all in Florida orange crates.”

“How is Uncle?”

“Ernest tells me he improves each day. Still won’t speak to me.”

Panic lit her eyes.

“I’ve talked to Ernest though...well, as much as he needs to know. He’s concerned about you. Downright angry with his sisters for not coming here.”

She shrugged. “Need to be with Uncle for the time being, I guess. I’d go with my father if given another chance.”

James looked to the brightening sky, the clouds being chased away by a warm, gentle wind. “He’ll come around. Hammond can’t stay angry forever.”

“I’m glad you told me the truth anyhow.”

“I still have your father’s box. I’ll bring it round soon.”

She nodded.

“Need anything? Tea?”

“Their tea chest overflows, but thank you. My gratitude to you for taking the time to haul my things.” She hesitated as if wanting to say more. James wouldn’t push her.

“Tell Ernest that I pray for him.” She paused. “For all of them.”

He nodded. Her lip quivered. She turned and sped towards the house.

JAMES ADJUSTED HIS ledgers. Losing the horses was no small loss—not that his savings suffered in the least. He tapped his pencil on his chin. For the time being, maybe it was good Dorothy held the deed. Hammond couldn’t mortgage or borrow against the land without her consent. Or rebuild with funds he didn’t have.

Hammond had made unwise business dealings before. Nearly gambled his life away. He couldn’t stand by and watch a whole family drown because Hammond had no money sense. He’d hope to give him a fresh start when making a deal with Dorothy’s father.

Hammond had an uncommon respect for Mr. Trafton. James knew he’d jump at the chance to keep the farm in the family and not lose it to the bank. He’d hoped the financial scare would set Hammond straight on his feet.

How could he have been so worried over Dorothy? True, he never predicted her wavering emotions, her staunch hold on parting gifts...

And never could he have predicted Hammond’s skewed belief of betrayal. James stood and stretched. He’d done nothing to gain his own wealth. His father had. And when his father died, he received an annual sum that would keep him comfortable for life. He was more than willing to share.

“No handouts.” Hammond said. “Don’t want any part of your coin, David.” Then he’d spat in the dirt, sealing a promise of an unchangeable mind.

He should have heeded Hammond’s desires. Kept his fingers out of the pie. Respect him enough. Somehow it didn’t feel like respect when Hammond had saved his life more than once.

James poked at the fire and pulled a book from the shelf. The comforting silence soothed his troubled heart. He relished the quiet, but at times needed to be at Hammonds. Join in the bustling household full of children and their messes.

Seeing Hammond’s shattered farm felt like a piece of his soul had forever disappeared in that tornado.

Chapter 22

MAY 18, 1880

I’ve been to town to visit Aunt and Uncle. My youngest cousins were in school. Helen and Kirsten