Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2) Read online

  “Howdy!” a voice came from down the road. It was Burt, and Caleb was pleased to see him. He had been felling trees all day, and the September sun lie across his land in long, defined shadows.

  “Hello, Burt!” Caleb shouted back.

  “This looks like progress to me!” Burt joined Caleb in the clearing just north from the stand of Douglas firs.

  “Getting there.” Caleb wiped his brow. “I’ve hired men to help with the larger ones.”

  He walked Burt through the area where he planned to build his house and barn. It was good to have a rest, but he was eager to take advantage of the cooler evening air.

  “I came to deliver your permits to you. You can build any time.”

  Caleb looked over the papers. As with the deed to his property, he felt a sense of pride in ownership. “Thank you, Burt. Your help has been a great service.”

  “Glad to do it. You’ll be contributing to the town in your own way, so we’re happy to have you here. Oh, before I forget, June told me to ask you to supper tonight. Accepting would save me a trip up here with her pot roast and potatoes.” He grinned.

  “Tell Mrs. Stanford I’d be very grateful for one of her meals.” Caleb chuckled. “Someday I’ll repay the kindness with a meal in my very own house.”

  “We’ll hold you to it! So you’re a cook and a carpenter and silversmith?”

  Caleb laughed and scratched his cheek. “I may have to borrow some of Mrs. Stanford’s recipes.”

  After Burt was out of sight, Caleb scanned the permit and let out a yelp. Having the go-ahead to build his dream gave him the energy he needed to continue, already tasting the pot roast and potatoes. It had been a few weeks since his first visit to Burt’s home, but it seemed a whole lot longer. He turned his attention to the road. Burt’s carriage rocked unevenly as it headed down the winding path. I’ll have to grade that soon, Caleb thought, stroking his goatee. His road, the one that led up to his own home. A smile crossed his face as he lifted his axe, slung it over his shoulder, and headed back to the trees. One more before quitting time, he told himself and his stomach.

  The night before, he’d met Levi and Cork at the Towne Saloon. He’d ordered the hash to quell his hunger and downed the meal with several watery whiskeys. His head had hurt this morning, and after several cups of coffee and the boarding house’s stale bread pudding, he tackled the land. A small lunch of biscuits and Bertha’s greasy meat spread, along with a few apples, was long gone.

  He finished up his work, then stood in the middle of his field, satisfied with his labor. He shook his hair free from the thin piece of rope that had held it back. The aromatic breeze took it playfully, tossing it against his damp face and neck. The heady smell of the meadow caught his attention. He walked to the pretty area and picked a small bouquet as a token of appreciation to Burt and his family.

  As he rode back into town, he looked forward to a cool bath at the boarding house, then

  a rich meal while seated across the table from an attractive, young woman.

  ~

  The wildflowers stood happily in the milky glass vase June set them in. “Jessica will do a marvelous job painting those flowers, Mr. Cantrell,” she said. “Did you know she was just commissioned to do a few of her landscapes for the literary guild to auction off? I’m sure we’ll see a pretty penny from it.” June clearly took delight in boasting of Jessica’s talents, making certain to add how gifted she was as a cook and homemaker. Jessica winced at the latter.

  “Indeed,” Caleb said with a wink to Jessica.

  She smiled, and they exchanged an amused look.

  “We are very proud of her,” June continued. “Now, if we could get my son, Jacob, and her brother, Will, to settle here and make a business for themselves, I would be as happy as a lark.”

  Jessica’s heart thumped with the mention of Jacob. Looking up at Mr. Cantrell, she noticed he had become serious and his brows were knitted. “Messing … Stanford,” he said almost to himself.

  “Yes?” June tilted her head. “Do you know the names? I would think there’s more than one family of Messing or Stanford, though I know only of us.” Squinting her eyes, she searched her memory. “Only us,” she concluded.

  Caleb leaned back in his chair, staring at his food.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Cantrell?” June asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t tell me if you have. They say the souls of the men who lost their lives in the Gold Rush haunt this part of the country.” Her eyes were wide with fright.

  He gave her a blank stare, then a short laugh. “I’m sure we’re safe from any spirits, unless they love pot roast … then, I don’t know.”

  The forced grin on his face gave Jessica cause for concern. What did they know about this man? Then her uncle talked about the two families and the law firm he and her father had back East.

  “Our sons would rather go into the wilderness in some trading business than follow in their fathers’ footsteps. We tried to stop them, but they had their minds made up. By the way, you mentioned to me your father was an architect. What did he design?” Burt inquired.

  “And what are the names of your family?” June asked.

  Caleb took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. “My father, Henry, designed banks.” He turned to June. “My mother’s name was Georgina, and my brother was Johnathan.”

  June put a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”

  “Along with my father, they were killed in a carriage accident when I was fourteen.”

  “We are so sorry to hear that, Mr. Cantrell,” Jessica said. A short pause followed. She couldn’t imagine what he suffered. She missed her brother, Will.

  “So your father built banks?” she asked. “How very interesting.”

  “He thought so.”

  “Yes, it’s quite remarkable,” June added.

  The conversation was directed away from the tragedy of his youth, and Jessica could see he was relieved. When she looked into his eyes, she saw a veil had been drawn. He took a bite of his meal. “Some of those buildings are quite elaborate in their design. Did he contribute to the ones in New York City?” she asked.

  “Yes, in part. They stand as a legacy to his artistry and talent.”

  “And is your house going to be similar in design?” It was meant to further lighten the mood. It worked. His smile was back.

  “No, not at all. I don’t have that kind of money, nor the skill. No, I’m hoping to build a comfortable home for myself, and one that can expand … for whatever the future may bring.” His last words were spoken quieter.

  “Our Jacob and Will do just fine,” June suddenly interjected, glaring at Burt.

  “Do just fine? Why, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of them in a year. I hope they’re doing fine.”

  Again, Jessica saw Mr. Cantrell’s demeanor change, as if he had escaped into his own thoughts.

  June placed another slice of roast on Caleb’s plate, even as he tried to gesture he’d had enough. “They were rough, but travel always does that to a person. I found them to be well. They had to leave, however, to get back to their business.” She glanced at her husband.

  Jessica felt her cheeks redden from her aunt’s and uncle’s disagreement. She steered the conversation back to their company. “Have you had many careers in your time, Mr. Cantrell, or just a few?”

  “I found work as I traveled and picked up many skills in my life, but one has intrigued me to no end. I became acquainted with a tribe up in Oregon and learned the art of silversmithing from an Indian there, mostly jewelry. I’ve been fortunate enough to find employment in Stewart Higgins’ shop as an apprentice for now, but someday I hope to be good enough to be promoted to artisan.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that business,” Burt said. “The Higgins Company. I think June has a small trinket from one of his collections. Fine work. Good for you, young man.”

  “Indians?” June exclaimed, her mouth full. She quickly swallowed, then dabbed her lips with her napki
n. “I’ve seen a few at a distance, but my, they frighten me.”

  “By my own experience, there are good and bad people in all cultures. I regard the people in this tribe as my adopted kin.”

  “Oh, well, yes, but still, we have to be careful around here. Some of the stories I’ve heard,” she insisted. “Weren’t you ever afraid?”

  “At times.”

  “I’m so thankful Jacob’s and Will’s business is doing well,” June said. “I’m sure they get to stay in decent hotels and eat well enough. Yes, as Mr. Stanford said, it’s been some time since we’ve seen them. I know they will return successful.” She patted Jessica’s hand.

  Jessica bit her lip. She couldn’t tell them the truth. She couldn’t tell them she saw their son in June. Her insides churned, the acids rising in her chest. She took a sip of water.

  “They’re traders, you say?” Mr. Cantrell asked. “What do they trade?”

  “Selling mostly. Basic supplies to homesteaders who can’t get to a nearby general store,” Burt explained. “They buy goods and resell them for a profit. Isn’t that how business works? They said it was lucrative, but I can’t say it looked that way.”

  Caleb nodded. Jessica noticed his politeness couldn’t cover the sadness in his eyes.

  After supper was over and the apple pie had been enjoyed by all, June commented on the evening air. To Jessica’s surprise, Caleb took the bait. “Would you like to take a short walk, Miss Messing?”

  Chapter Six

  “Your aunt is a generous soul,” Caleb said as they walked along a path across the street that was flanked by overgrown blackberry bushes and grasses. The air was pungent with the sweet smell of over-ripened berries.

  “And so are you for putting it so nicely,” she replied. “But she is a dear.”

  The conversation flowed easily, neither of them needing anything more than a simple walk on a fragrant, summer evening. Even the quiet moments fell naturally.

  “We should walk on over there.” Jessica pointed to the side of the road beyond the bushes. “It’s more open.”

  “Your reputation is at stake with this ‘cowboy,’” he joked.

  “Is it?” she asked, playfully.

  “Maybe.” She caught a roguish smile cross his lips. His self-deprecation amused her.

  Walking alongside Caleb, Jessica attributed her light-headedness to the cooler air after a hot day. She hated to think his looks and confident demeanor could provoke such a girlish reaction. Yet, if she was honest with herself, he did give rise to certain feelings. The thought of woman of all ages swooning over him dampened those feelings, and she was glad of it. She had better things to do than chase after a handsome man. They walked along the roadside now, past the neighboring houses, the gap between them closing.

  “This is a sweet, little town,” Caleb said.

  “It is, but. …” She caught herself and wished she hadn’t included the last word.

  “It’s not what you want?”

  His blue eyes stared back at her, and the corners of his lips slightly curled up. She cleared her throat softly. “No, I just feel there’s a bigger world out there.” Catching a whiff of his scent, musky yet clean, took her attention. Unnerved by her arousal, she let the space between them widen.

  “I think the world is too big,” he said. “I’ve found myself a spot up there in the hills, and the world can get along just fine without me searching around in it.”

  Catching his meaning, she thought of her little studio and a small place she would someday call home. It gave her a warmth that wrapped around her heart. “Yes, you’re right. It might be just fine to take a piece of it for ourselves and be happy with that. I suppose I was wanting for art’s sake.” She wondered if his experiences had rounded the rough edges of his pride, this tall, fair man walking so calmly beside her, his confident masculinity tempered. Had Jacob come to that place?

  “Are you happy, Miss Messing?”

  Caught off guard by his questions, she hesitated before replying. “I am happy. Not in every aspect of life, but who is?”

  “May I ask why you haven’t married?”

  “You are bold, Mr. Cantrell. Do I look like a spinster to you?”

  “Not in the least bit, but your uncle worries at your lack of interest in marriage.” He nervously adjusted his bolo tie. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “I’ve taken no offense. Truly. I do enjoy my singlehood for now. My art keeps me occupied a good deal of the time. I desire for my work to go out into the world and be a part of what I may never get a chance to see.”

  “May I see your paintings sometime?”

  Jessica stopped. “Shall we head back? I wouldn’t want my aunt and uncle to worry.”

  “Of course.”

  They walked in silence, but for a comment about the roses in one yard or the finely trimmed hedge in another. As they approached the front gate, Jessica sensed his question in the air and wanted to blow it away. If she hurried inside, he wouldn’t ask her again, but it was too late. He touched her arm. “Miss Messing, this has been a lovely evening. Thank you for your company. I sense your hesitation in letting me see your work. I understand. The process can be a private one.”

  She relaxed and nodded her head with a smile. They went inside. He thanked her aunt and uncle for dinner, then he was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Quiet and uncomfortably warm, even at nightfall, the room’s soft, white curtains billowed from the open window. Jessica stretched her body on the bed and pushed the down-filled pillow under her head, her cotton shift raised up to her thighs to allow the breeze to touch her legs.

  Looking up at the flower-painted ceiling, she thought of Mr. Cantrell, how different he was from what she had imagined. No one else she had met in the small town of Clermont City had made her feel so alive. Dark-haired and stout, Mitch Simons came to call just last week at the request of her aunt. He’d asked Jessica to the theatre, and she’d politely declined. It was an awkward moment, yet she felt she couldn’t bear to spend an entire evening with someone so boring and ill-suited to her. Then there was John Mansfield, tall, lanky, and handsome in his own right, who followed her around the general store where he worked whenever she came in, too shy to talk directly to her. She felt nothing for either man and hadn’t expected to. She was in love with and devoted to Jacob.

  Fluffing her pillow, she tried to quiet her thoughts, but she tossed and turned most of the night.

  In the morning, she dragged herself out of bed. Downstairs, she found her aunt and uncle

  discussing something in hushed tones. They fell silent as she entered the kitchen. She yawned and accepted the cup of hot tea from her aunt. “Good morning, thank you.” Taking a seat at the small kitchen table, she looked at one then the other. “What is it?”

  Her aunt answered. “We’ve received a letter from Hannah Rolland asking if we need her services. Are she and her husband still employed by Frederick? I’m sure they are both miserable there, what with the circumstances of his new wife competing for his affection over that English import he cheated on you with. The whole house must be feeling the upheaval of it.”

  Jessica took a sip of tea before asking to see the letter. “English import?” she asked.

  “Well, yes,” her aunt replied. “He brought her over here, didn’t he? From Liverpool?”

  Taking a moment to reply, she looked at her uncle. The large, gentle man drank his coffee in silence.

  “His life doesn’t concern me in the least.” Jessica leaned forward to grab a biscuit. “But the Rollands do.”

  June handed the letter to Jessica. “When your uncle was in the city last week, he ran into Mr. Frederick Moore,” she began, practically spitting out the man’s name. “He says he wants to make peace and offered Burt an investment deal on some land.” Her aunt glared at her uncle with indignation. “As if my husband would have anything to do with him! Proper Englishman, indeed!”

  “My dear June, you need not get yo
urself worked up over this again,” her uncle said.

  “Isn’t it just awful though, Jessica?”

  “June, that’s quite enough.”

  “Then I won’t tell you what message he wanted your uncle to relay to you.” Her aunt turned away from the table.

  “Auntie, whatever Frederick has to say will not bother me.” Jessica lied.

  Her uncle put down his cup of coffee. “He wanted me to wish you well, and let you know that he is doing fine, though I did catch in the wind that his wife is quite a handful. And … well, he hasn’t been the model husband. There are several mistresses now.”

  Shaking her head in disgust, Jessica read Hannah’s letter, and indeed, the woman, nearly the same age as herself, gave accounts of abuse and misconduct toward the household staff. She folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought of Frederick abusing his power over Hannah. “This sounds dreadful, but where could they go if they leave Frederick’s employ?”

  “Back to England, I suppose,” her uncle offered, “though who knows if his family will take them in after what Frederick did by coming out here. My Lord, how does a son take all of his inheritance right out from underneath his father’s nose?” Burt drained his cup.

  “He’s proven to be a scoundrel!” June exclaimed.

  Jessica nibbled on the biscuit and sipped her tea while she thought of how she could help Kevin and Hannah. “Poor Mr. and Mrs. Moore. They came across the Atlantic to our wedding with their gift of servants and left in a blaze of disbelief and anger. I traveled across this country with Kevin and Hannah. Servants or not, they were my companions. Frederick always said not to get attached to the help, but it hurts me to see them in such bad circumstances. How can we help them, Uncle?”

  Her uncle thought a moment. “I think Frederick may want to keep Kevin on. We’ll have Hannah stay with us until I can figure out what to do.”

  “Do you mean that?” Jessica looked from her uncle then to her aunt.

  “I could use the help,” her aunt said. “What with you busy with your art and me getting on in age. She could have the small room next to the laundry. A far cry from what she had in the city, but we can’t have Frederick ruin their lives as well.”