Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2) Read online

  The town hall, courthouse, and post office were much grander than the town itself. From what Levi’s parents had told him, Clermont City had been on track to become much larger and more important, but then the railroad plans were moved north to the city of Oakland. The grand buildings stood as a reminder of lost opportunities.

  He approached the decorative, white structure with lace trim work and a sweeping porch. He checked the sign again—The Main Street Land Company. The reception area was hot and stuffy and smelled of cold, cooked meat. The oriental rug beneath his feet partly covered an uneven, planked floor. Beyond this room were two rows of desks. A large, gray-haired man rose from behind the second desk, wiping his mouth and hands with a square, white napkin. Caleb removed his hat.

  “Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you today?” the man asked.

  They shook hands. “Good afternoon. I’m looking to buy some of the land up along Rail River.”

  “Come on back, young man.”

  Caleb followed as the man crossed to a plat map pinned to the wall. “Let’s take a look. Here’s the river. I see this piece is for sale, and the field next to it as well. Which are you interested in?”

  “I’d like to purchase both,” Caleb said confidently. “How much acreage is that?”

  “You’re looking at about ten acres in all. What are you planning to do with it, if I may ask?”

  “Farming and a workshop for silversmithing jewelry and small trinkets.”

  “Oh, so you’re a silversmith?”

  Caleb ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I intend to be.”

  “It’s a fine skill. Your field there is a good one for planting. Put the shop away from the banks of the river. You never know when a good rainfall will flood it over.”

  “I’ll be sure to take that into account.” Caleb took a seat in front of the man’s desk at his invitation. His new clothes felt stiff. “I’ll pay cash,” he added.

  “Superb,” the man replied, visibly impressed by Caleb’s prosperity. A twinge of deceit crept into his heart.

  “Come on in tomorrow, and I’ll take you up there myself. We can have a good look at the markers to make sure you’re getting what you want. By the way, I’m Burt Stanford, and you are?”

  “Caleb Cantrell, good to meet you,” he said. “Are you the owner here?”

  “No, that’s Ray Dunbar. I’m the attorney for the business. Dunbar is out of town for a few days, but I can sure start the paperwork.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Stanford.”

  “You can call me Burt.”

  “And, it’s Caleb.”

  “All right then, Caleb. Meet me here tomorrow at noon, and we’ll take a ride up there.”

  ~

  Burt’s carriage rocked from side to side as he steered over potholes and around small boulders along the five miles of rough road. Past the creaking, wooden bridge over the Rail River, the tall trees on either side gave way to an expanse of land littered with bushes and thin trees, almost two acres in size. To the west lay a meadow full of late-summer wildflowers, and to the east, an expansive field of low grass. A knoll dipped down to the private banks of the tributary. Beyond was the forest, leading into valleys, then mountains. To Caleb, it couldn’t be more perfect.

  As they walked the field, Burt commented. “Good thing you’ve got this clearing here. The rest of it is dense with trees.” They followed its gentle slope to the pristine river. The sound of the water flowing freely was music to Caleb’s ears. The river cut across the land, winding ever so gently past the field and into the lush forest. Its banks held small trees and a variety of grasses, with wildflowers dotted throughout. It gave one the feeling that Mother Nature had planted it with care, leaving a few openings for a cool dip on a hot summer’s day.

  It had the serenity Caleb longed for. He knew this is where he belonged. He removed his hat and turned in a slow circle. The town was just near enough for needed supplies and a bit of socializing now and then to get him out of his own head. But the uninhabited wilderness to the east appealed to him—being too close to civilization made him nervous. He welcomed the privacy.

  They backtracked through the field and walked south toward more of the forest.

  “The trees up here could supply the timber for your home,” Burt suggested.

  “You read my mind, Burt. I plan on building my home out of them,” Caleb said, pointing to a stand of Douglas firs.

  “That’s mighty ambitious. Have you felled trees before?”

  “I have.” Caleb’s thoughts rushed to the Klamath Reservation and his time helping the Klamath people cut and prepare the logs for the sawmill. His gaze went to the sweet meadow along the roadside. He’d take rest there, a good cup of coffee in hand and a trusty dog by his side.

  “Over there is a side road for another homesteader to access the main one,” Burt said. “I looked at the records, and a couple by the name of Benjamin Loggin and his wife, Sally, live there. They could be a good resource for you. I read their well went pretty deep, too.”

  “That’s good to know, Burt.”

  Burt touched his chin. “Let’s walk this area, though, and make sure you’re getting what you want. Large, whitewashed stakes will indicate the corners of the property. The number will be on the stakes. It’s 138.”

  Caleb nodded in agreement, and with that, they scouted out the landmarks. Over brush and around trees they searched, conversing as they went. Caleb had a feeling that Burt’s

  familiar, reserved manners and speech were not originally from the West. They reminded him of his childhood. Although relieved to be free from those societal confinements, he still mourned his parents and brother. He wondered briefly if his grandmother was still alive. “Where do you hail from, Burt?”

  “Hartford, Connecticut.” Burt pulled back his shoulders with pride.

  Caleb’s intuition was right. “I thought I had detected an accent. I’m from those parts myself, New York City to be exact. I left shortly after I finished my schooling.”

  “Did your family come all the way out here? That must have been quite a journey back then.”

  “No, I left on my own. Been traveling ever since. It’s time I settled down.” Caleb surveyed the beauty of the untouched wilderness around him.

  “I’m sure there’s a lot to your story, Caleb. I’d like to hear about it sometime. Matter of fact, my wife is the best cook in this county. Why not come for supper tonight, unless you have somewhere else to be?”

  Chapter Four

  Delighted her husband had invited company for dinner, Jessica’s aunt bustled about in preparation, then they headed for the garden. With a wide-brimmed hat and a straw basket in hand, Jessica followed June, who carried a tattered rug and gardening gloves. They stopped in front of a row, and her aunt dropped the rug and knelt on it.

  “Burt gave the man good directions. He’s staying at the boarding house,” June said. “My goodness, I hope he isn’t too rough. Apparently, he’s been on his own since he was just out of school. Never the mind, we’ll be happy to have him, won’t we?” she chirped as Jessica extended the basket to receive the leeks her aunt harvested.

  “Auntie, you are much too generous! He could be a scoundrel whose only intention is to take advantage of good-natured people like you and Uncle Burt.” Jessica settled the basket on her hip. “I’d be very cautious if I were you. Leave the good silver locked away in the pantry cupboard.”

  June got up and handed over more of the leeks. Jessica placed them neatly in the basket and stood aside as her aunt moved to another row. She knelt back on her rug among the turnip greens. “Jessica, don’t be silly. Your uncle Burt is a good judge of character.” She became thoughtful. “It might be good if you get out once in a while and socialize. You may find there’s more to life than painting. I know it’s given you solace over a rough patch, but my dearest, it’s time to look for another husband. We never get younger, now, do we?”

  Jessica adjusted her weight. “Another hu
sband? I’ve just found my freedom. My paintings are not an escape, they’re my living. Why, just last week Mrs. Harding bought one of my landscapes for ten dollars. Her daughter wants a still life and is willing to pay as much as twenty-five. And don’t forget, the new gallery on Center Street wants to show my paintings in their next exhibit. That’s a remarkable thing, don’t you agree? All of their paintings are done by men.” She continued to arrange the vegetables in her basket. “I can get along without a husband. Someday I’ll earn enough to find my own place to live, but until then, I’m grateful for you putting up with me.”

  “Oh, Jessica, I didn’t mean it like that,” June said in mid-pull of a turnip. “We wouldn’t think of it. We love having you here. It’s good for us, and we are so pleased that your talent is being noticed.” She shook the dirt off the cream-and-purple-colored bulb. “I was just saying that soon you will want to live otherwise. A man can provide a way of life more suited to you, though, heaven knows, Frederick didn’t leave you with many choices.” June sat back on her legs. “You know, Uncle Burt still can’t figure out how he went so long deceiving the investors. Thank goodness you had none of that scandal, and now we hear he’s doing land deals.” She shook her head as she scooted to the carrot tops, dragging her rug with her. “I’ve heard rumors from some of the ladies in my club who frequent the city that his new wife is a real hen. And the woman he cheated on you with … well, where is she now?” She plucked each carrot, looking at the crop with satisfaction.

  Jessica found it hard to hear anything about her ex-husband, although she did take satisfaction in knowing his domestic life was turbulent. “Have you heard any more from your father? Surely they’ve come to terms with the divorce by now.”

  Becoming somber, she took the carrot bunch from her aunt. Talk of her parents never failed to stir up guilt. “I don’t think they have. Father is still angry and wants me to come home,” she replied with a sigh. “He doesn’t trust that I can take care of myself.”

  “Your father has more pride than he needs, and you’ve inherited some of it, I’m afraid. He’s just worried for his daughter. You can’t hold that against him. Your mother writes they have no more to do with the Moore family. I suppose with them living in England, it makes it easier. What a shame. Your father was fond of Charles.”

  She thought of her ex-husband and the miserable life she had led under his thumb. “I know they weren’t too pleased about his choice in a wife. When Frederick decided to move us out here, his father disowned him. I don’t see how my father could be friends with a man like that.”

  June paused before resuming her chore. “Yes, I remember that horrible evening. We were all so shocked. San Francisco was a world away from Hartford. I’m just thankful my brother and his family were here. Were it not for them, your uncle and I would never be here and you would be. …” Jessica caught her eye. “I’m sure you would be back home in Hartford.”

  She swung the laden basket to her other hip. The thought of going back to live under her parents’ roof was unbearable. “Mother says it’s difficult to talk to Father about any of this. I suppose he’d like to disown me.”

  “Don’t speak such nonsense.” Moving to another row, June looked over the wilted tops of the potatoes. “You know, I’ve been thinking … we should encourage them to move out here.”

  Jessica kept quiet. She didn’t share her aunt’s enthusiasm. Her parents would be relentless in trying to run her affairs. Even writing to them about Will’s and Jacob’s unexpected visit last September had to be handled with diplomacy so as not to disappoint them further. The slightest mention of her divorcing Frederick had her mother writing back, “It would be too great of an embarrassment for both your father and me, and I’m sure I would have to withdraw from a few of my clubs.” As far as Hartford, Connecticut was concerned, she was still married to a successful finance attorney.

  Although Jessica loved them dearly, she couldn’t escape her parents’ disapproval. She realized that her actions had made life difficult for them even with the great distance in miles between her and Hartford. She wrote less to them of her own situation and more of her aunt and uncle’s lives.

  “Well, you are the judge of your own life, Jessica. I’m just saying, don’t wait too long to find a man. The life of a spinster is not for you, not with your beauty and lovely disposition. For now, get yourself ready and I’ll finish up here.” She tidied up the rows from the harvest.

  Jessica rested the basket of vegetables on the ground and walked away, but her aunt’s voice stopped her. “We will introduce you as Miss Messing to our guest, and nothing else need be said.” Jessica agreed and left June to her garden.

  ~

  After dressing for dinner, Jessica went to the porch while her aunt put the final touches on the meal. She sat in the rocker and wished Jacob were in the empty chair beside her. Closing her eyes and breathing in the delicious air filled with late-summer fragrances, she thought back to last year when they had talked together on this very porch after making love the night before. The bittersweet tension of that time coursed through her body. How foolish she and Jacob had been, with Fredrick due in the next day. Her body trembled at the memory of his almost feral passion, so unlike last June when he was gentle and his expression of love had satisfied her so completely. She fingered the beads at her neck and felt their smooth comfort. It was all she had of him right now while she continued to carve out her own future.

  Despite what her aunt thought of her art, Jessica knew she was on the right path. Yet she also knew the road to success would be difficult. Each time she arrived at a new venue with her paintings, she had to endure the inevitable questions—“Are you married?” “Who is your husband?” and the most irritating comment, “This is a wonderful hobby for a woman. Your husband must be so proud of you.” She guarded herself against those who demanded more than her art. She showed her work in towns outside Clermont City and farther north in Oakland, but she had much bigger dreams. She wouldn’t be satisfied until her paintings were available throughout the country, particularly in New York City and Chicago.

  Her own ambitions threatened to overwhelm her and stop her progress, but once in front of her paper and canvases, her creativity seemed boundless. Peacefully rocking in the porch chair, her mood was broken by the thought that her aunt might be right—life without a husband was harder. She thought of the single women she had met and recalled that most of them were either widows or spinsters, resigned to their fates. They seemed content, but not fulfilled. Jessica’s intellect and heart knew the difference, and she desired to have both love and career. Could she have both? The answer felt insurmountable. She reminded herself not to think too far ahead–a habit of hers she wished she could break.

  A dog barked in the distance, ending her daydream. Her and Jacob’s hopeless love, and the fact that he was far away on a trail, sat with her always. She wiped the sweat from her brow and went back inside. Lost in her own life, she hardly gave any thought to the stranger coming to visit.

  ~

  “Do I pass inspection, Miss Messing?” Mr. Cantrell looked at her with the bluest eyes she ever saw.

  Jessica broke her stare from the strikingly handsome man and dipped her chin to feign interest in her plate of food. His chuckle heated her cheeks. Finding her grace, she asked, “Are you a cowboy?”

  Grinning, Caleb brought his napkin to his lips and gave a quick swipe before he told the threesome about some of his adventures after he left home—catching and eating rattlesnake, roasting salmon over a fire the way the Indians do with sticks put together like a ladder, the beauty of the Southwest and northern regions he had traveled. She could hear his stories were kept light for their benefit, and she wondered what hardships he hid behind his fair features and good manners.

  After the meal, the women stood at the door, bidding him a good evening, while Burt accompanied him to his horse. “I have a good feeling about that land up there, Caleb,” he said. “You will do well with it. Let’s get the
paperwork going. By the time Dunbar returns, it’ll be ready for you to sign. I’m sure the city will approve of it.”

  “That sounds good, Burt, thank you. Let’s talk sometime next week.” The men shook hands. Caleb mounted his horse, and he and Burt waved good-bye. Jessica got the feeling they would be seeing a lot more of Mr. Cantrell.

  ~

  Back at the boarding house, Caleb sat on the bunk bed and drew out the plans for his home. He would have to consult a professional on structural aspects and hire several men. His father, Henry Cantrell, had been a successful architect in New York City before his tragic death, and architecture had intrigued Caleb since he was a little boy. If Henry had lived, he would have passed his knowledge and experience to his son. Caleb’s life would have turned out very differently. This house would be a tribute to his father.

  His thoughts wandered to Burt’s beautiful niece. He’d been more drawn to her personality, not to mention her big, brown eyes and full, pink lips as the dinner progressed. He let himself dwell on her for a short while, then came back to his own business, but the thought of their next encounter made it difficult to concentrate on the lines and measurements. You’ve been in the wilderness too long, Cantrell. The hardness of his life seemed to soften, if just a little.

  He took his watch out of his pocket. It was getting late. Besides the land deal, he had a meeting the next day with Stewart Higgins, the silversmith. He turned down the light in the kerosene lamp. This was a good day. It had been a long time since he ended an evening with such a thought. He bunched the thin pillow behind his head and let himself drift off, sensing the approval of his Indian mentor, Soaring Feather. He was soon in a deep sleep.

  Chapter Five