To Dream of Langston

TO DREAM OF LANGSTON

Copyright 2013 © Màiri Norris

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This novel is a work of fiction. The names, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Eighteen months ago, I didn't even know if I wanted to publish. I certainly had no clue where to begin. The support, knowledge and encouragement of the lads and lasses at Celtic Hearts Romance Writers—with special thanks to the Critters and beta readers (Charlotte, Annie, Deborah and Patty)—turned a nebulous dream into a realized goal. You got this work past author intrusion, over POV and through Indie pubbing. Whatever would I have done without you? You're by and far the best.

DEDICATION

To Charlotte.

The best friend a girl ever had.

You never once let me think I couldn’t do it.

I love you, CAM. Thanks.

DISCLAIMER

Everything possible has been done to insure this book is free of typographical and formatting errors. Please forgive those few that may have slipped past the many eyes that searched for them.

TO DREAM OF LANGSTON

♥

By Màiri Norris

CHAPTER ONE

Heathcrest North Riding of Yorkshire, England

Saturday April 16 1864

"He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me lots."

One by one, tiny yellow petals of golden gorse fell from slender fingers, sometimes floating straightly down, sometimes twirled and twisted by a fitful breeze still touched with winter’s chill.

Fifteen-year-old Katherine Fairbanks played the silly decision of the flower game while she awaited her friend Ella Simpson. Perched on the parapet of an arched stone bridge that spanned an unimportant tributary of the River Esk west of her village, she raised her face to bask in the sun’s gentle warmth. A diamond of a morn, it made the heart rejoice to be out-of-doors. With crystal blue skies and sunshine golden as newly minted sovereigns, the day even smelled good, clean and freshly new, for at last the world was waking from the frigid sleep of winter.

The waters beneath the ancient span ran slightly muddied and higher than usual from rain on the moors. The current rushed and gurgled over the rocks close to the banks, but flowed in creamy silence through the deeper channel in the middle. Along the western bank, a curlew darted and dodged on stilted legs among the moss-covered rocks, its long, curved beak stabbing in the mud in search of a meal.

Ella was late.

He loves me. Unable to sit still, Katherine stripped more petals from their long stems, mindful of the prickly, spine-tipped leaves, and released them to the stream below. Some were caught in the surging current and spirited away. Others were splashed onto rocks to sparkle like tiny nuggets of purest gold or eventually settled to the bottom to become one with the sandy sludge.

Her feet swung out over the flood, her heels drumming a gay rhythm against the stones. It was her birthday, and she was fifteen years old. She hummed a happy tune and gazed across the vernal-drab, undulating moorland where emperor moths fluttered and flitted in erratic dance.

A dance was scheduled this eve at the Common Hall, a celebration of the renewal of life after a harsh winter. It wasn’t a birthday party—she was too mature for those, now—but it would be just as much fun. It was the first of the festivities planned for the year and the anticipation of the community was palpable.

She fancied she felt their energy, for her village, the thriving hamlet of Heathcrest bustled with activity on this fair April morn. With the arrival of spring, the heavy traffic along the railway and the village main street—an offshoot of the Great North Road—had commenced and the hubbub carried clearly to her across

Obeying impulse, she threw back her head and flung her arms wide to fling gorse petals high. They rained down upon her uplifted face like a shower of sunshine.

What a glorious day! She laughed the words out loud, not caring who might hear. And tonight I will dance with Jamie.

Jamie MacCorkin! Oh, but he was handsome. Tall, and brown and fine, with a slow smile bracketed by deep dimples and a mischievous light in his tawny, gold-flaked eyes. He held a perpetual mirth in those eyes, often aimed at her, but never with mockery. Nay, it was a laughter born of love and a lifelong friendship, a special gift offered only to her.

Closer to her in heart and soul than Jeremy, her brother, they’d been the best of friends forever. She adored him.

Still grinning ear-to-ear, she leaned forward, palms of both hands resting on the crown of the parapet on either side of her hips, fingertips drumming against the edge. Oh, she loved to dance, especially with Jamie. Her favorite memory was of the first time they’d danced together.

It was during a Midsummer Ball when she was five, and Jamie eight. With a solemn dignity belied by the laughter in his eyes, he escorted her out behind the Common Hall to the wide green lawn lit by a handful of flickering torches. They waltzed beneath the starlight, her smaller feet planted on the tops of his boots, his arms around her so she couldn’t fall.

All too soon, the music stopped and the magic moment ended. Jamie bowed with what papa, who’d been watching from the Hall door, later called ‘courtly courtesy’. Then he grinned and flicked the tip of her nose with his fingers, a game they’d long played.

Got yer nose, lass. Want it back? He’d led her away on a merry chase that ended when Katherine tripped over her hem and fell on top of him. She giggled helplessly while he fussed as he untangled himself from her skirts. She wouldn’t forget that dance if she lived to be older than papa.

’Ow do, Kate? The cheerful voice of Heathcrest’s cainer sounded behind her. ’Ow are tha gettin’ along these bonnie days?

Katherine’s smile widened as she twisted to acknowledge the man.

Surely fine as the sunshine, Mr. Fillane. Exuberance shaded the rich contralto of her voice as her hands made an expansive gesture that embraced the day. And you, sir?

Nicely, Kate, nicely. Is Abbey still feeling badly?

My sister has recovered from the ague, thank you. She’s well enough to run through the house like a wild thing, pretending to chase butterflies.

Glad t’ ’ear it, Kate. Tha family and tha’ll be at t’ dance tonight?

Oh, yes, sir. You and your dear wife, will you come?

Well, t’ missus ’ad a bit of a fuss this mornin’ with her heart a-flutterin’, but ’appen by this evenin’ she’ll be fair t’ middlin’. ’Appen we’ll come.

His eyes flicked beyond her and he touched his cap in greeting. ’Ow do, James.

He walked on toward town, calling a farewell sithee over his shoulder.

Distracted by the cainer’s talk of his wife, Katherine missed his final words and sensed Jamie’s presence behind her a half-second too late. His familiar scent, something between sunshine and wool washed over her, while a breath of warmth against her nape shivered her spine. Powerful hands enwrapped her waist and his fingers bedeviled well-known ticklish spots.

She squealed. Stop that, Jamie MacCorkin!

She squirmed and laughed even harder as she fought unsuccessfully to hinder his playfulness. His arms slipped round her waist and he pulled her against his chest. He kissed the soft skin below her ear.

Guid mornin’, lass.

Startled by his actions, she froze, then tried to turn in his arms, but his hold was true.

What is he doing? This isn’t normal.

She tried to lighten an encounter gone mystifyingly strange. A fine greeting! You nearly sent me into the water.

Wheesht, lass, ye ken I would niver let ye fall. He laughed softly. Though well able to speak the King’s English like an Englishman born and bred—or Yorkshire Broad, or the Gaelic of his mother’s Highland kin—Jamie often combined his father’s Lowland Scottish burr with the Saxon tongue in an odd mix of the two. I dinnae want my best lassie splashin’ aboot in an icy burn.

He let her go. Katherine’s wide eyes swiveled to meet his as he pulled himself up beside her, his back to the water. He grinned.

Oh. This is more like him.

She grinned back and plunged full tilt into the skirmish.

"Your best girl? Ha! Your only girl, and you should know it. Nobody but me would have you."

Aye, sure, mibbie they wouldnae at that. I dinnae ken, and dinnae care. But I did mean the wish, lass. He leaned toward her, searching her face, the warmth of his arm and solid thigh pressing her own. Another inch and their lips would meet. Katherine abruptly lost her focus.

Jamie closed the distance to first rub noses, and then his lips closed over hers in a decidedly non-fraternal caress. "Ye are lookin’ verra fine this mornin’, Kate. What was it ye were thinkin’ on so close just now, that ye dinnae hear me behind ye? Lost in daydreams o’ dancin’ wi’ me at the ceilidh, aye?"

Shifted off-balance by his behavior and caught by the spell he so easily wove, she couldn’t think of a word in response. The light within his warm brown eyes, wide set and thickly lashed, danced as he explored her face and promised all the dreams that made life worth living.

She tore her gaze away, her glance falling along the familiar lines of his body. Taller than Hamish, his da and his brother, Innes, but stockier, with broad, powerful shoulders and strong, sturdy legs, he radiated a quiet strength she loved. Clean-shaven, he kept his thick, wavy, light brown hair cut short. Three years her senior, Jamie was the heart of her world. He touched depths in her soul none other ever reached.

He shifted his position on the parapet and stroked her chin. Where be ye, Kate? Ye are driftin’ off in yer own little world. Must be all this baskin’ in the warm spring sunshine. Come back to me, lass!

Her eyes refocused. She licked dry lips and looked away, across the moor. What did you say?

Jamie laughed, his eyes knowing.

Irksome lad. He knows quite well the effect his odd behavior is having. Spell cast, in truth. I must re-establish firm ground or risk losing myself forever in the light in his eyes.

What are you doing in the village this morning, Jamie? I thought you would be busy with the shearing.

That should be a prosaic enough topic for spell-breaking.

I was, but Da sent me into town to buy a new blade for one o’ the crank shears. I went by the house lookin’ for ye, but Jeremy couldnae tell me a thing aboot where ye might be. That brother o’ yours be daft. I had to go ask yer neighbor, Mrs. Carlisle, who said ye had taken a food basket off to Mrs. Crispin. I came out here hopin’ to meet up with ye.

The laughter surged in his eyes. There ye were, sittin’ on the parapet like a queen, dreamin’ so hard I thought ye would niver notice me, Mr. Fillane or nay. He leered at her. Are ye certain, Katie lass, ye were only thinkin’ o’ the dance and no’ o’ bein’ wi’ me?

Katherine’s eyebrows shot up and she lifted her chin, but heated blood seared her face. She had been dreaming of him, but she would not admit it. As if I would. You’re a conceited fellow, Jamie MacCorkin.

"Ye be fibbin’ to me. Ye were dreamin’ o’ me. Come now, tell me true or I’ll tickle ye agin and make ye tell me." He jumped down and reached for her, but she twisted and made a grab for his hands, her laughter peeling out. She lost her balance. Her eyes flared wide and her arms windmilled as she toppled backwards.

Jamie caught her easily, his right arm slipping around her shoulders, the other encircling her waist. Both her hands shot out to grasp the front of his shirt. Time and the world vanished as she hung, dangling half off the parapet. Gazes locked, he stared into her eyes the way papa used to look at mum. Inexplicably, the light in his eyes darkened.

Her stomach clenched. She watched, intrigued as his pupils widened until the golden brown all but disappeared. Beneath her hand, his heart pounded an increasing tempo. The moment stretched between them, tenuous as the bubbles in the stream.

Awareness, yes, there had always been that, but this…this was new, a tension like the pulse of a heartbeat before a thunderclap, sharp as the edge of a knife. Deep it coiled within her belly. Jamie’s touch gentled around her, but her breath quickened, as if he squeezed her lungs. He seemed to be having the same difficulty. He panted as if he’d been running.

Instinct overrode caution and Katherine reached for this new thing that promised all the hopes of tomorrow. Her hands slid over Jamie’s shoulders to clasp behind his neck. Jamie?

From whence came the impulse, she never knew, but she lifted that infinitesimal span to press her lips on his.

Wariness sprang to sudden life in Jamie’s eyes. He stiffened. He spoke something in Gaelic and jerked away.

Kate. A wave of dark red swept up his sun-browned face and his glance shifted beyond her shoulder to the wild moors.

A little breathless laugh of delight puffed out from between Katherine’s lips. Her Jamie was blushing. In all their lives, she only recalled that happening once, years earlier, when she caught him swimming in a pond on the moors, bare as a newly hatched sparrow. Her laughter and sororal teasing had been merciless.

Kate. Jamie said again. He re-settled her securely on the parapet. I have to get back to the village and then home. His voice held a dark, husky note new to her. Walk wi’ me?

Taking her cue from him, she struggled to pretend that the universe hadn’t just swirled in a mad, chaotic dance all about them.

Jamie. His name came out as a strangled squeak. She paused, swallowed against a dry throat and tried again. I’d love to, but I promised Ella I’d wait for her. But I look forward to tonight.

As if all was normal, Jamie nodded and flicked her nose with his fingers. Aye, sure, that ye will, lass, an’ ye’ll be dreamin’ o’ me all the day till then, too, I reck. Try no’ to fall into a burn between now and then.

In light of what had just happened, Katherine cuffed his shoulder with an indignant slap. But he only grinned and bussed her cheek. Her eyes followed him as he walked away.

Mother O’Casey’s apples! What had just happened?

She swung her feet over the parapet and hopped down. She’d had enough of the bridge for one day. She shook out her skirts and then groaned aloud as she glanced up to see another villager approach. Her earlier high spirits plummeted through a gamut of emotions, landing somewhere between anxiety and revulsion. No one could ruin a perfect day faster than Miss Nisbet.

Thin, with sharply honed features, the woman tromped toward her, returning from her sister’s home out on the moor. An irascible, bitter-hearted spinster approaching middle age, Miss Permilia Nisbet was Heathcrest’s worst gossip. Her tongue could best the plague for damage. She nodded to Katherine as she passed but didn’t speak. Katherine snorted beneath her breath. As if the woman had need of speech. ‘Smug’ failed to do justice to her expression.

Merciful heavens. Miss Nisbet saw me with Jamie. Her tale of our ‘passionate’ embrace will be all over the village within the hour.

That the encounter was innocent would matter not. By the time the woman finished spreading her version of the incident, folk would be betting on how soon word would come out that Katherine was in the family way.

Where on the moor is Ella? I can wait no longer. I have to get to papa’s surgery to make sure truth beats the rumor.

She made it halfway back to the village before she saw Ella hurrying to meet her. Ella’s round face glowed pink from exertion and her big brown eyes flashed an impish sparkle.

She called to Katherine in a high, breathless voice. Kate! I’m sorry to be late. Mama asked me to mind the cash box while papa ran an errand. I only just now got away. Forgive me?

Katherine’s lips quirked. I would if there was need.

Though one foot, well hidden beneath the hem of her dress, beat an impatient tempo against the ground, Katherine clasped Ella’s outstretched hands. Ella squeezed back to emphasize her apology.

The well-to-do Simpson family had moved to the village two years earlier to take over the Heathcrest bakery. Katherine and Ella became fast friends from their first meeting. An only child and a happy one, Ella had shared with her many secrets and long, intimate talks.

As usual, Ella’s morning dress displayed the height of what passed for fashion in Heathcrest. Considered quite comely by the male population, she was Katherine’s age, but there the resemblance ended. The slender height Katherine inherited from her father distinguished her from other girls, while Ella’s figure could most charitably be described as daintily plump, a tendency aggravated by her love for her mother’s sweet pasties and tarts. Her curly golden ringlets were caught up in a snood. Katherine habitually wore her hair in a thick braid that hung to her hips or was coiled at her nape.

Did you hear about the performance coming to the Common this afternoon? I hope it’s something new.

Katherine’s brows rose. In Heathcrest? Not likely. Billy Carnen told Jeremy it was a troop of acrobats, but Old Harry said he heard it was a trained animal show. Whatever, it will have to wait. I’ve got to find papa right away.

Ella skipped to keep pace with Katherine’s longer strides. You do look a bit grim. What has you in such a rush?

Katherine hid a grimace at her own selfishness and slowed her headlong momentum. Miss Nisbet’s tittle-tattling wasn’t Ella’s fault. I nearly fell off the bridge parapet. Jamie caught me. Miss Nisbet saw us.

Ella gasped. No! Oh, dear. That horrible woman. Do you know, it’s too bad the stocks were abolished. She would benefit from the experience. Maybe.

Katherine giggled in spite of herself. The remark was so unlike Ella, whose soft heart made allowances even when it shouldn’t. I wonder if it would stop her, truly I do. I think she might perish if she couldn’t gossip. I’m grateful there are some who are not so foolish as to believe the drivel she spreads.

Have you considered what an unhappy person she must be?

Now that sounds more like Ella.

Mama says her heart must be terribly lonely, living by herself as she does. No one likes her, and she never gets invited anywhere. Maybe that’s why she tells hurtful things that aren’t true.

Katherine stopped so abruptly Ella sailed past her. She stared at her friend blankly before her expression softened. Trust Ella’s good nature to make excuses for that cruel woman. I expect it’s the other way around. She kicked at the skirts flapping round her legs, hindering her brisk stride. Miss Nisbet enjoys saying things that aren’t true and that’s why nobody cares for her. If she’s unhappy, she has no one to blame but herself.

Still, I feel sorry for her, Ella insisted. Even her sister doesn’t seem to like her much. She only puts up with Miss Nisbet because she wants her help with the children.

Katherine sighed and remembered to slow her pace again. "I suppose so. But if Jamie gets in trouble because of her tattling, I’ll…well, I don’t know what I’ll do. But I’ll think of something unpleasant. She stopped at the turn-off for the wide, well-trodden footpath that angled across the heather strewn moor toward the south end of the village. Shall we plan to meet later at the Common, then? I must talk to papa and then check on the children. I left Jeremy in charge of Abbey while I visited Mrs. Crispin. Goodness knows what mischief they’ve got up to since I left."

Oh yes, let’s! Ella said. I know. We’ll meet behind the shop after lunch, say about two? That should give us plenty of time to get into place for the show.

Ella’s enthusiasm might have been contagious if Katherine wasn’t so worried.

All right. I’ll bring the children. They won’t want to miss it. Although if they’ve been too unruly….

Ella’s sunny laughter floated behind her as they parted. You’ll bring them, anyway, whatever they might have done.

***

Katherine turned aside from the wider path to a much narrower track that approached the Fairbanks home—and papa’s attached surgery—from the back, and passed through the open gate. The crunch of her feet on the white graveled path echoed through a yard still winter barren except for little ragged patches, here and there, of snowdrops, dog violets and daffodils. A few primroses clumped about the stone benches to either side of the surgery door.

A familiar pang, as of an invisible dart, shot through her chest. If mum still lived, there would be a profusion of vivid spring growth throughout the yard. But since her death two months after Abbey’s birth five years earlier, there’d been little time to keep a garden, even if Katherine’s hands were skilled in the task. Her lips tightened. The bleak landscape suited her present mood.

She pushed open the surgery door and hesitated as a blast of sultry air and the earthy smell of burning peat emanating from the fireplace enveloped her. Half a dozen heads swiveled in her direction, their faces reflecting various reactions to the tableau transpiring in the room.

Simmering annoyance blazed into wrath.

I’m too late. Drat that blasted woman!

Papa stood backed against the door to the examining room, his face a study in nonplussed bafflement as Miss Nisbet poked a long finger at his chest. She delivered the conclusion of what must have been a dramatic harangue in a sanctimonious voice, pitched just loudly enough to resound throughout the small room.

I’ve warned you before, Doctor Fairbanks, you should keep your daughter on a tighter rein. She’s at a very impressionable age and that young scamp, James MacCorkin is doing his utmost to take advantage. If only you had observed what I saw just now, on the bridge. Miss Nisbet quivered with outraged morality. "Why, I would not be at all surprised should Kate soon find herself in a most compromising situation."

Ladies do not lose their tempers, no matter the provocation.

Mum’s firm voice echoing in her heart steadied Katherine. She unclenched her teeth, lifted her chin and walked with measured pace toward papa, never taking her eyes off his face. He turned to acknowledge her, the swift relaxation of his narrow shoulders all but imperceptible. Relief lit his eyes.

Good morning, Papa. She lifted onto her toes to kiss his cheek, the familiar scent of bay rum tickling her nose.

Miss Nisbet opened her mouth, but Katherine forestalled her tirade with a breathless giggle. She, too, pitched her words so all could hear. Goodness, ma’am! I’m so grateful to you for setting poor papa’s mind at ease about my near tumble off the bridge. It was most fortuitous, was it not, our good friend Jamie was there to prevent a dangerous accident? A fall into the icy water would surely have resulted in a severe chill to my lungs. Papa would have worried for my safety if the wrong person had brought news of the incident, wouldn’t you, Papa?

She offered him an ingenuous smile.

Her father blinked. Er…yes. Y-yes! Certainly, I would have. He swung back to Miss Nisbet and grabbed her hand, shaking it so hard the woman’s cameo necklace bounced. Indeed. I thank you Miss Nisbet, for your kind and timely explanation. But if you would excuse me, I must get back to my patients. Katie, dear, I’m sure I heard Abbey screaming a moment ago. If you would check on her…Mrs. Tuttle, I’ll see you now.

He turned his back on Miss Nisbet and stepped into the examining room, followed by a bemused Mrs. Tuttle. The door snapped shut with a decisive click.

Thank you again, ma’am. Katherine nodded to Miss Nisbet, whose open mouth was beginning to close while a red wave flooded her face.

Katherine swiveled on her heel and left the surgery.

If that doesn’t take the wind from that spiteful woman’s sails, nothing will.

Instead of following the gravel path as it wound round to the front door, Katherine wandered through the garden. Her home was situated at the end of a wide lane, two blocks west of the Cot and Rill coaching inn. Katherine loved the tranquil setting, flanked as it was along the lane with thatched cottages, and nothing behind but moorland as far as the eye could see.

She relaxed the smallest bit and her lips twitched as a voice inside the house rose in volume. Papa hadn’t lied to Miss Nisbet. Jeremy, in typical brotherly fashion, enjoyed teasing his baby sister until she lost her temper. Abbey was in a rage, screaming as if intent on the whole of Heathcrest hearing her displeasure. Katherine shook her head. Rescue of her sibling was the next chore to face.

The surgery door opened and closed with a purposeful slam. Drawn by the sound, Katherine glanced around. Miss Nisbet raised a wrathful face and met her gaze at the same moment. Her tension snapped back.

Mother O’Casey’s apples! Why didn’t I go straight into the house?

Katherine squared her shoulders, preparing for battle as Miss Nisbet adjusted her purse on her arm and opened her parasol. Lips compressed and pointed nose in the air, the woman marched toward her, stopping only a foot away.

Katherine controlled a shudder. If eyes could do physical damage, she’d be lying on the ground in a flayed, bloody mess. She waited.

Miss Nisbet trembled. Her knuckles were white along the shaft of her parasol. "You wretched child! How dare you seek to make a laughing stock of me! You may believe you have diverted the consequences of your abominable behavior, but I know what I saw. You will find I am not so easily dismissed!"

Katherine counted to ten.

Ladies do not lose their tempers.

Miss Nisbet, it’s not what you saw that concerns me. I was there. I know what happened. It’s what you choose to make of what you saw that I seek to forestall.

Beneath her bonnet’s brim, Miss Nisbet’s countenance looked as if she’d taken an unexpected sip of soured ale. Her response came forth strangled, escalating in pitch to a near screech. You accuse me of lying?

Katherine paused, struggling to maintain a calm mien as mum had taught her befitted a lady. Had anyone ever dared face down Miss Nisbet in one of her ill-conceived tales? Perhaps it was time someone did. Perhaps it was time she did. "It was never your business to speak of it in the first place. My behavior, good or bad was not your concern. But if you felt you must speak, then you should have spoken to my father privately, and you should have told only the facts.

"But I heard what you told papa. I don’t say it was an outright lie, but neither was it truth. You exaggerated what you saw in such a way it became a lie, and you told it so many would hear and pass it on, knowing the lie would only grow in the retelling. I won’t allow you to so besmirch the reputation of my family or that of the MacCorkins."

If Miss Nisbet’s posture had been stiff before, it now went positively rigid. Her skin washed almost purple, her pupils expanding until all Katherine saw in her eyes was blackness. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed trout, but she made no further comment. Instead, she whirled and stalked from the yard.

Katherine watched her go. Her shoulders dropped and she blew out a breath, shutting her eyes as she raised her face to the cleansing sunlight. Battle, indeed. She felt drained, wearier than on days when she’d run and wrestled, laughing, with Jamie on the moors…and to think this day had begun with such carefree promise.

Mairead would be proud of you, as am I.

Katherine started as papa’s words washed over her like sweet balm. You think I behaved with respect, that mum would approve?

I do. That woman deserved far worse. He hugged her. Ah, little Katie. While my back was turned, you’ve become a woman grown. He ran a gentle hand over her hair. I love you, baby. To my shame, I haven’t said that enough of late.

I love you, too. Katherine tightened her arms around his waist, fierce in her hold, salty heat burning her eyelids. He was right. He hadn’t said it in a long time, but she was accustomed to his silence.

In his youth, papa had used his inheritance to attend St George’s Hospital Medical School in London, and afterwards moved into the Somerset countryside to start his practice. It was there he met Mairead O’Shea. Her family had emigrated from Ireland some years earlier to escape the catastrophic famine caused by the potato blight. Love took root at their first encounter and never stopped growing.

Katherine was old enough now to understand mum’s death had devastated her father. He’d never recovered from her loss. He withdrew into himself and kept himself busy from morning until night, with little time for his children. Katherine missed him almost as much as she missed mum.

I must return to my patients. We’ll talk more about this later.

She nodded and watched him walk away through blurred vision. Such a handsome man he was. With sensitive, almost ascetic features, wide spaced, thickly lashed hazel eyes and fine, straight hair the light golden brown of a plover’s feather, he still turned the ladies’ heads. Fastidious in his dress, he carried his tall, spare figure with elegant grace.

Katherine swallowed her tears, well aware there would be no further discussion of the incident, despite that he meant his words. Her brows puckered. It wasn’t something she could quite put her finger on, but lately there were…changes, little things about her father’s behavior that left her uneasy.

Once known throughout the riding for his ability to spin a rare yarn, it had been long since papa was home to weave one of his tales. He rarely met her gaze straight on, and he went out almost every evening, not coming home until after she slept. He sidestepped her questions about where he was. Village gossip had it he drank until closing at Patrick’s, where, unlike the pub at the Cot and Rill, men went to drink hard.

Rumors being what they were, Katherine afforded them little credit. Still, papa woke later in the mornings than had been his wont, his eyes bloodshot, smudges darkening the swollen skin below them. He often appeared fatigued. But she had attributed it to his age, and surely, his continuing struggle with his grief kept him from sleeping well.

A second shrieking wail from inside the house intruded on her musings.

Abbey.

She glanced up at the front door lintel. Searing anger still hovered too close to the surface. She needed a few moments to regain composure before facing rambunctious siblings. As mum had taught, she inhaled in slow rhythm, allowing the muscles of her face to slacken. She focused on the date carved deeply into the arched stone over the entrance with its heavy wooden door.

1578. The year Good Queen Bess rewarded a stonemason with a tidy sum for an undisclosed service.

Little by little, her body relaxed, responding to the diversion.

To advertise his talent, the man used the coin to build the solid, two-story structure with stone hauled from the quarry at Thorton-le-Dale in Pickering Vale.

Katherine let her eyes rove the façade, savoring how the stone had weathered over the centuries. Now a lovely green-gray, with darker patches splotched here and there, it glowed in bright sunlight with a muted sheen. Dark slate protected the steep-sloping roof. Mullioned windows with sparkling diamond-paned glass transmitted abundant light into the interior.

Abbey screamed again and Katherine blinked. No more procrastination.

***

Mother O’Casey’s apples! What is going on? With a single glance around the great room, Katherine ascertained that despite the racket to the contrary, all was well. It sounds like a flock of bleating sheep in here.

Abbey ran to throw her arms around Katherine’s legs. Wide blue eyes two shades lighter than Katherine’s own appealed with fat tears. Jeremy won’t give me my dolly. Make him give her back.

Jeremy, innocent as a newborn calf, pretended he hadn’t been playing the snatch game, a mild torment in which he would hold out Abbey’s doll and then jerk it back before she could grasp it.

Jeremy, you know better. Give Abbey her doll. Katherine caught her brother’s grin. She raised an eyebrow and set her face in I-mean-it lines. The grin disappeared as he obeyed. What chastisement is suitable for two such ill-mannered children?

So much sternness bracketed the question that both of them stirred uncertainly and stared hard at her. Jeremy fidgeted. Abbey stuck her thumb in her mouth. Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to prevent a grin.

But she remembered the sweet promise of the day still to come and laughed at their guarded expressions. If the two of you will promise to behave, we’ll go to the market. Would you like that?

Little faces lit, and they shouted in unison. Yes!

Can we go now? Jeremy’s hazel eyes, so like papa’s, pleaded. It was Saturday. His friends waited for him at the Common.

"‘May we go?’ No. Eat first. Play later."

Ignoring her brother’s freckled, crestfallen face, Katherine busied herself in the kitchen. Besides lunch, there were chores still to do before they could meet Ella.

Take this to papa, and don’t dawdle. Katherine handed a linen covered plate of sandwich and fruit and a glass of cool water to Jeremy. He bolted out the door with eleven-year-old fervor.

Katherine dipped a cloth in the kettle of water kept warm on the hearth and made short work of scrubbing Abbey’s grubby face and hands. Unlike Jeremy, who except for the wild and unruly red thatch atop his head was curiously fastidious for a boy his age, her baby sister seemed incapable of remaining clean.

Abbey squirmed and tried to push her hands away. What will we do at the market?

Katherine, well experienced at her task, was not distracted by her sister’s antics. I’ve been told there is a special event scheduled for this afternoon, and before you ask, I don’t know what it is.

She threw the cloth into the stone sink, shaking her head as she playfully popped Abbey’s bottom. How the child could still look grimy after such a thorough cleaning was anyone’s guess.

The door slammed open and Jeremy raced back into the house, his thin, wiry body all motion. The breeze had ruffled his hair into tuffs and it stuck out from his head.

Love almost choked Katherine at sight of the two of them. She turned away to hide her moist, prickly eyes and set plates of leftover toad-in-the-hole on the table. Lunch passed in companionable silence except for Katherine’s admonitions to Jeremy not to bolt his food and to Abbey not to play with it.

Nap time, Goose. Jeremy, it’s your turn to do dishes. Don’t forget papa’s plate. I have mending. Automatic complaints died instantly at her next words. No grumbling or no market!

An hour later, Katherine brushed and re-braided Abbey’s flyaway, curly, red-gold locks—the color of mum’s hair—and lifted her little spring coat off the rack by the door. Sunshine ruled the day, but Jeremy, outside practicing his catch, had left the door open. The incoming breeze still carried a bite. Katherine refused to risk Abbey taking a chill when her sister had just recovered from ague.

As she bent to fasten Abbey’s buttons, a shadow at the door blocked the light. Mrs. Daring, the village seamstress stood smiling.

Katherine answered the unspoken greeting with a wide grin of her own. She sent Abbey out to Jeremy and waved the woman inside, taking in her gaunt figure, deep-set blue eyes and straight brown hair turning to gray. To Katherine’s knowledge, no one had ever called Mrs. Daring pretty, but she was an exceptionally fine seamstress and her services were much in demand. In her youth, she had lived in London and served as modiste for the ladies of the Court.

She had designed and sewn Katherine’s new dress for tonight’s dance, papa’s gift for the occasion. Daffodil yellow, it was full-skirted with narrow cap sleeves. The gown’s barely-off-the-shoulder neckline dipped, as did the waist, into a modest vee. Flat ruching in wide bands of gold, ivory and bronze trimmed the bodice, sleeves and hem. In the front, the gathered scallops swirled in an elegant arch from hem to left waistline. A simple style, it suited her lissome height.

Curious at the reason for Mrs. Daring’s visit, Katherine nodded to her. Good day to you, ma’am. May I offer tea?

She’s never visited us before. My fittings were all at her shop and my dress was delivered, so why is she here?

No child. I need only to speak with your father.

I’m sorry. Papa is busy with patients, but I’m sure he would see you if you wouldn’t mind waiting, or perhaps I might take him a message?

Mrs. Daring dithered for a few moments and then came to a decision. Her voice took on a brisk note. Katherine, when you see your father, ask him to let me know at the dance tonight when he plans to pay for your dress.

A chill that had naught to do with the breeze touched Katherine’s heart. Her teeth bit into her lower lip.

What is this about? Papa has already paid for the dress. He said so.

She offered Mrs. Daring her brightest smile to remove any sting from her words. I believe there’s been some mistake, but I will certainly pass on your message.

Thank you. Good day, children, she said, nodding to Abbey and Jeremy who now stood at the door, listening.

Good day, Mrs. Daring, they echoed.

Moments later, as Katherine walked with the children down the lane toward the Common her mind raced. Surely, Mrs. Daring was mistaken. She must have forgotten papa paid her.

Those ‘little things’ she’d thought of earlier returned to haunt her. Only three weeks ago, papa paid off Mrs. McDougall, the butcher’s wife, their chatty, part-time cook and housekeeper. His decision took them all by surprise. Mrs. McDougall had worked for them since she came to help with Jeremy and baby Abbey after mum’s death.

For two days, Katherine tried to persuade him to change his mind because the children loved Mrs. McDougall, a plump pillow of a woman with a grandmotherly kindness, but he had been adamant. Katherine was old enough, he argued, to take care of cooking and cleaning. She was of marriageable age and needed the experience to manage her own future family. Poor Mrs. McDougall gave a last, sniffling goodbye and went home. Though papa’s explanation for his actions was reasonable, Katherine remained uneasy.

Last week the farrier re-shod the back hooves of their hardy little pony, Blossom, who pulled the family rig papa used to make his twice-weekly rounds. When Katherine removed the leather bag in the hidden hole in the back wall of the kitchen where the household monies were kept, she was shocked to discover there was barely enough coin to pay the man for his work. Papa said not to worry. A number of his patients had yet to pay him for his services.

Then yesterday, papa asked if she would mind cutting back on household expenses. Only for a while, he assured her. Again, his excuse was patients with empty pockets, but the explanation was worrisome. While some of papa’s patients used the barter system, stopping by at all hours to bring what they could afford, usually food, the occasional chicken, or cloth, most of Heathcrest’s citizens were prosperous enough to pay with coin.

Katherine’s brows furrowed. Her new dress was costly. It might have made finances temporarily tight. Still, papa’s claim did not agree with that of the seamstress.

Abbey tugged at Katherine’s hand. Katie, you’re not listening. Reproach rang in her high, birdlike tone. I’ve talked and talked and you never answered. She didn’t, did she, Jeremy?

"No, she didn’t. What are you thinking about, Katie?"

Katherine shook her mind free of the troubling doubts. Whatever the situation, brooding would not help, nor did she wish the children to sense her worry.

She threw Abbey a warm smile. Oh, there now, Goose, I was just daydreaming. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Tell me again what you said, please.

They passed old Mrs. Carlisle in front of her thatched stone cottage, relaxing in the sun with the inscrutable cachet of a dozing feline. Katherine dearly loved the elderly widow with her soft white hair, wise brown eyes, pleasantly rounded shape and sharp mind. Mother to Heathcrest’s resident Squire, she refused to live at the family manor, Carlisle Aire. Sir Franklin Carlisle, son of her middle years, bought the little cottage in town so she could be close to her friends and take daily part in community life.

After the death of Mairead Fairbanks, Mrs. Carlisle had taken Katherine, then ten years old, under her wing, for George Fairbanks lost his way when he lost his beloved wife. He wasn’t able to care for his children because he couldn’t even help himself. Mrs. McDougall and others had stepped in to help with infant Abbey and frightened, bewildered Jeremy, while Mrs. Carlisle had done her best by ten-year-old Katherine. Over the years, they had grown close. Katherine spent much time with her, taking tea, reading aloud and dressing her hair.

Abbey dashed over to kiss Mrs. Carlisle’s wrinkled, tissue-papery cheek as Katherine waved gaily. Good day, ma’am! You look well. How are your knees today?

Laughter buttressed Mrs. Carlisle’s tongue-in-cheek reply. Nary a creak in the joints, child. It’s the dry warmth, you know.

Katherine giggled. The weather was an old joke between them. Aye, sure, I know it well. We’re off to the market to see what may be seen. Will you join us?

I thank you, my dear, but I’m afraid the crowds would be too much. Besides, I’m resting for the dance tonight.

Then I’ll stop by later to chat.

I’ll be waiting. Enjoy yourselves.

***

Heathcrest held market days on Tuesday and Saturday inside the huge square of the Common, which after many centuries remained the heart of village life. The Common Hall—the community meeting room—the Cot and Rill Inn, Patrick’s Pub and many of the village shops wound around the square, enclosing it. Their back doors all opened into it. Snickets, or narrow alleyways, ran between the buildings at the north and south, east and west points, providing access from without.

Watch the traffic, children. Katherine clasped Abbey’s hand as they exited the lane to cross the busy main road. The creak and rattle of wagons, drays and the odd carriage merged with the shouts of drivers and pedestrians along the wide thoroughfare. Adding to the general cacophony, merchants sent their apprentices to hawk their wares in hopes of catching some traveler’s fancy.

Katherine returned waves and greetings as she led the children into the bakery instead of the snicket that ran beside it.

Katie, are we going to buy something?

Jeremy’s confusion was understandable. She’d already been to the bakery for bread, early that morning.

Abbey chirped her own curiosity. Can we have tarts?

"‘May we have tarts?’ Wait and see," Katherine replied, enjoying the surprise.

Papa asked that I cut back on expenses, but surely, we can afford tarts.

The shop was busy, but soon enough, Mr. Simpson gave her a hearty welcome, twinkling through what seemed a face full of mutton chop whiskers. Good day to you, Miss Kate, and to you, children. What will you have? Perhaps a sweet pasty, or a bit of cake with clotted cream? Or might you be wantin’ some of mama’s lovely blackberry tarts? What is your pleasure, today?

Tarts, please, sir, Abbey piped. Jeremy echoed agreement.

Tarts it is, then. Mr. Simpson’s cheerful face beamed. As was his habit for children, he added a free dollop of clotted cream to the tops and then wrapped the scrumptious pastries in oiled paper.

Katherine paid him, thanked him with a smile, and led the children to the back door of the shop. They passed into the Common.

As Mrs. Carlisle feared, the market thronged with boisterous crowds. Off-key singing and raucous laughter belched from the open doors of both pubs. Lively bargaining caromed between the owners of the many stalls and the customers who wished to purchase items as diverse as books, baskets and bonnets, woven wool blankets with intricate patterns and rooted flowers from the softer, warmer climes of the south.

Katherine checked the deserted platform in the center of the square that served, when weather was clement, as stage for all manner of entertainment. She steered the children to the bench where Ella waited beneath the wide, leafy canopy of an ash. Jamie stood with her, his broad shoulder propped against the trunk. Katherine’s heart, taken aback at sight of him, leapt in gladness. Emotions surged, joy the strongest. A flashback of the morning’s embrace triggered what felt like an idiotic, but irrepressible smile.

He watched her approach with a look in his bright