Love Under Two Mavericks by Cara Covington (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

Finally, they were able to pry the lid up. Inside, was an envelope, with the words “Powell Family” written on it.

Clint looked at her as he reached for the envelope, and she nodded. She had no problem with his looking at it first. He opened the envelope and drew out three more smaller envelopes.

“This one says Gabriel Powell, and this one says Nicodemus Powell…and this last one is addressed to a future Powell.”

She reached for the last one first. “Gabriel was the son of Jonas, the first Powell to settle this land. Nicodemus was my Grandpa Nick, Gabriel’s son.” She smiled when she thought of the old man, who’d died before her brother, Daniel. He used to put her on his lap and read her stories.

She looked up at the faces surrounding her and at the men who she knew, no matter what, had her back. “It was Grandpa Nick who named that big old live oak the Legacy Tree.”

Then she tore open the letter she’d taken from Clint. She read it aloud.

“To a future Powell,

“This day I held my baby boy, Harold, in my hands for the first time. His momma, my Millie, is doing well. My heart is full of hope for the future and joy. So much joy. What a blessing after the darkness of the war that the world, and me, just finished up with. The signing of a treaty gave the world piece, and now this small babe has given peace to me. This is what life should be, and by damn, I’m going to make sure that this son of mine, and any future sons and daughters and grandchildren, have a chance for their own joy. I will not pass on the ‘burden of the soul’ that my grandpa Jonas passed on to my father, Gabriel, and which he, in turn, passed on to me.

“I’ve made a decision. I have to build on to this house, anyway, and I have actually started the process. I’ve framed out where the concrete is going to be poured for the base on which I’ll add a couple of bedrooms on the downstairs level.

“And it is in this pad I will secure this letter, and the ones bequeathed me by Gabriel and Jonas, my father and grandfather. I’ll never forget the secrets they left me to carry. I have only to look at the Legacy Tree to remember. But I can hold those secrets. Let there be no more stains on any Powell’s soul.

I’ll tell my boy, as he grows older, that the tree that now is taller than all the rest is our Legacy Tree, a symbol of pride in the accomplishments of this branch of the Powell family—the branch descended from Jonas Powell. And it will be a symbol of hope, for the future generations of souls who choose to embrace this land.”

Nicodemus Jonas Powell

March 15, 1946

“Burden of the soul.” Michaela looked at Randy and then Lewis. “What could that mean?”

“Read the others,” Clint said. “I have to admit I’m curious, too.”

“I don’t know if I want to.” Michaela felt her cheeks heat. She had no idea why now she was wimping out.

“I’ll do it, baby girl,” Lewis said.

Clint met her gaze and lifted one eyebrow. She nodded. He handed Lewis the other two envelopes.

The first one, written by Gabriel, was short and to the point.

“This is your legacy, Nic, as it was mine on the death of my father. I’ve told no one. It’s all on you.”

“That didn’t sound particularly friendly,” Randy said.

“It didn’t,” Michaela agreed.

“Sure piqued the curiosity, though, didn’t it?” Adam said.

There were various noises of assent around the table. Lewis shrugged, then opened the final letter and read.

“Gabriel,

“I know I don’t have much time left. Your mama’s waiting for me to join her up in heaven, probably wondering what’s taking me so long.

“Truth is, I have a burden on my soul, and I need to ease it some, I reckon, for St. Peter to let me into the pearly gates.

“One night, fifteen years ago now, I was out with my telescope, the one my brother Shamus gave me before he headed out to see the world—just looking at the stars. You remember those nights? I’d found a good place for stargazing to be the small knoll, just by the well.

“Motion caught my eye, and I used my scope to see what it was. I recognized my brother, Ezra. He had a horse-drawn cart and a couple men with him. They pulled in by that large live oak, jumped out, and started to dig. They worked those shovels like men possessed. Reckoned I knew why when they stopped their digging then unloaded what I knew was a coffin.

“They dropped it into the ground then lifted the lid. And poured….I don’t have a clue what, but they emptied some bags of something into it. Not a body, unless they’d hacked up some poor soul to bloody pieces. Wouldn’t put it past Ezra. Then they squatted by it for a spell then covered whatever it was with dirt. That didn’t take long. Then they all got back into the wagon and rode off.

“The next morning, I walked down in that direction, toward that live oak. Those boys did a piss-poor job of things, let me tell you. If anyone came looking, they’d know something—or someone—had been buried there. Over the next month, the rains came, and in time, you couldn’t tell the ground had been disturbed. You couldn’t tell that tree hid a secret. But I knew.

“Not long after I’d espied him digging in the dark, I heard Ezra was in Waco, that he was working in the feed store there and staying upstairs in a room. But not once did he come to pay his respects to me and your ma. I never told her about what I saw