Shannon Farrington - Handpicked Family

“Elizabeth is feeling very poorly—”

“And you thought it best to leave her and come here?”

Guilt threatened to creep back in but she lifted her chin. Elizabeth was fine. She didn’t need her help, but according to Emily, the people here did. “David was worried and Mr. Collins is now ill, so he will be caring for his wife and overseeing the paper in your absence.”

Mr. Carpenter rolled his eyes at that. She did not stop to ask why. Trudy then explained that her brother had been wounded here. “I wanted to express my thanks to Reverend Webb.”

“This is no sightseeing expedition, Miss Martin.” The look he gave her then made her wanted to leap from the wagon, run all the way back to Mount Jackson and climb aboard the first train to Baltimore, but Trudy steeled her resolve.

I have injected myself into his cause, wrongly, perhaps, but it is done and I will see this mission through. “I realize that, Mr. Carpenter,” she said firmly, “I am here to render aid, not play the role of a tourist.”

“Good,” he said in that commanding voice of his. “As a representative of my newspaper I expect you to do your job.”

“I shan’t do anything else.”

“Good,” he said once more. “Make certain of that.”

I will , she thought as she continued to hold his look. Believe me, the subject of romance is firmly closed. He had read her motives once before. Trudy trusted he had read between the lines now, for without further word, her employer disengaged the brake and urged the horse forward.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t the encounter with Zimmer and the rest of his rough-looking compatriots that had left Miss Martin silent. It was Peter’s remarks that kept her stone still beside him. He felt bad for speaking harshly to her, especially when he accused her of sightseeing, but he told himself it had to be done. She said she had come because of her brother, a desire to help him and the reverend who had tended him. He just wanted to be certain that was her only reason.

If she had put the idea of marriage to him out of her mind, then he had been successful. If he had made her reconsider marriage in general, then even better. If only Caroline had more carefully considered such things before my brother came along.

The wagon jolted and Miss Martin’s arm brushed his. Peter’s thoughts returned to her.

Romantic notions aside, he was genuinely concerned for her welfare. She does not belong here. Ideally they’d soon go their separate ways. Just as they’d resumed their trek to the church, Dr. Mackay had mentioned the possibility of sending for more supplies. Hopefully Miss Martin would be the one to return to Baltimore to do so. It’s the best place for her.

Miss Martin’s innocent, open nature was refreshing, but it was also unnerving. She believes the best about everyone she meets and thinks that love, faith and hope are enough to set the world right.

His brothers had thought the same.

But hope can’t reverse time or raise the dead , Peter thought . This world is no longer a Garden of Eden, not since jealousy, greed and murder entered it. And in this desolate place, there are too many who would take advantage of that innocence rather than protect it. Better by far for her to be on her way. He cast Miss Martin a glance as the wagon lurched forward. Silence still reigned.

Presently she was taking in the scenery, but it was not the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains or the rock-dotted Shenandoah River that held her attention. It was the imprint of war. For miles she had viewed charred remains of barns and stables, empty homesteads now covered with vines, but the nearer they came to the town of Forest Glade, the more evident the destruction.

The once prosperous little hamlet on the north fork of the river was now only a shell of its former glory. The flour mill had been destroyed. The sawmill was much the same. Remnants of warped and twisted machinery sat rusting into oblivion. Of the workers’ houses opposite the sites, not a structure remained intact.

“This makes me angry,” Miss Martin said suddenly.

“It should,” Peter replied.

After the space of a heartbeat she then said, “I can’t help but wonder what has happened to the people who lived here, who worked here? Are the men we met just now on the road the most desperate of the lot or are there others worse off than they?”

He could hear the emotion in her voice, the compassion. That was another thing he admired about her. At her age most Baltimore belles would be focused on replacing their outdated wardrobes as soon as possible. He gave her a quick once-over. Here she sat in homespun, protected from the rain by only a plain knitted gray shawl and an unembellished straw hat. She looked damp and uncomfortable but she was not complaining.

Again his conscience was pricked. I did speak harshly to her. Perhaps more harshly than necessary. “That’s what I’m here to find out,” he said, “and to hold those responsible who promised to make reparations.”

She looked at him with those wide, innocent green eyes. “I’ll help you in any way I can,” she promised.

Great. He sighed under his breath, for in his opinion she was still a little too eager to help him. Making quite the effort to keep his irritation from coming through in his voice, he then said, “Well, I’m not all that certain how much help you can be. I can’t have you going off investigating, gathering information on your own.”

She took no offense at that. Thankfully, she realized he didn’t doubt her research abilities but her physical safety. “That’s why you wanted David,” she said.

“Yes,” he said simply.

She turned her attention back to the road. So did he. The wagon rocked and bounced over the uneven ground. About a half mile beyond the crossroads stood the church. Its faded white steeple still pointed faithfully toward the rolling gray sky, but vines and thistles were fast consuming its foundation. Boards had been nailed across several broken windows to protect the panes from further damage. Peter couldn’t help but wonder what it had looked like when Daniel first saw it, or when Miss Martin’s brother had, for that matter.

Were they both here at the same time? Knowing that detail had no bearing on his personal mission, Peter pushed the thought from his mind. As they pulled into the churchyard, Reverend Webb’s wife, Sarah, met them. “Thank the Lord for your safe arrival,” she said. “I’m so pleased to see all is well.”

But not without incident , Peter thought.

Her husband, James, explained what had happened on the road. Peter then reported the lost cargo. The woman’s tired face fell even further. “What exactly remains of your supplies?” she asked.

“We’ll need to take inventory to be certain of that,” Dr. Mackay said.

“Never fear,” Miss Martin added, her optimism apparently rebounding. “We can still assist many with what remains.”

The Mackays introduced themselves, and then Miss Martin. Mrs. Webb offered her a smile. Eager to converse with the woman, Miss Martin climbed down from the other side of the wagon and hurried to where the reverend’s wife stood.

Having secured the reins, Peter gingerly made his way to the ground, listening as Miss Martin explained that her brother had lodged at the church facilities.

“Oh?” Mrs. Webb said.

“Yes, and I was eager to come and thank you and help you in any way I can.”

Her enthusiasm was obvious. Peter didn’t doubt it was sincere but he couldn’t help but think, You won’t be so optimistic when you see the inside of the church. I’m certain it’s a far cry different from your own.