Legacy of Secrets. Sara Mitchell

Isabella’s parlor returned in greater force, the one where Mr. Faulkner very much reminded her of Adrian. Her brother also used to cover his unhappy restlessness with hurtful words and a facade of hatefulness. “Mr. Faulkner, it’s plain that for some reason you don’t like me very much. It’s not necessary for me to understand why, but I’d like to. Miss Isabella’s fond of saying that a few bruises on an apple don’t mean the entire fruit’s gone completely bad. It just means that—”

      “I’m well acquainted with the concept, and its application.” He ran a hand through his hair, took a long breath. A faint glimmer of humor washed through his eyes. “Miss Shaw, you look like a squirrel’s nest.”

      Neala self-consciously lifted a hand to the unruly locks of hair dangling around her face and neck. “My hair has a mind of its own, especially when the humidity is high. But it’s rude of you to remark on it, Mr. Faulkner. Didn’t your mother teach you better manners?”

      “My mother taught me many things, including manners. I’ve spent the past fifteen years trying to forget every one of her…lessons.”

      The rancor in his voice sent a chill along Neala’s spine. “I better return to the school,” she began with forced cheeriness. “Three hours is the limit for Saturday free time on your own, unless you’re on the school grounds within sight of the house.” She lifted her hand to cup the whistle and took a steadying breath. “I have no idea why you’ve chosen to think the worst about me, nor do I particularly care to defend myself against someone whose mind is closed to reasoning. But for your information, Mr. Faulkner, I came out here in order to find evidence of that hunter—not to ‘plant’ it, as you accused me of.”

      “Didn’t find any, did you? I wondered how long you planned to wander around.”

      “In a war, spying is a hanging offense.”

      “Then it’s a good thing we’re not at war, Miss Shaw.”

      “Aren’t we?” Neala retorted quietly. She turned her back and retrieved her notebook and pencil. “I’m going now, Mr. Faulkner. You can either follow along or choose your own path. Either way, you’ve made your feelings toward me obvious. I’d appreciate it if you’d ignore me in the same manner I plan to ignore you.”

      He frowned, then abruptly swiveled on his heel and hurled the second pinecone into the trees. “You understand nothing about my feelings, Miss Shaw. Toward you or anything else. If I’m wrong about you, I apologize. If I’m not—” the pause was loaded with thinly veiled threat “—and you cause my aunt or her school any suffering at all, even a moment’s concern, you’ll not be able to run far enough or long enough. I’ll find you, and you’ll think my behavior today saintlike by comparison.”

      “I…see.” Neala tapped her pencil against her lips in a vain attempt to hide the smile threatening to burst free. Oh, but the relief flooding her insides was a heady sensation, the urge to reassure Miss Isabella’s thunderous nephew impossible to ignore. “Mr. Faulkner, I think you’re a lion with the heart of a kitten. Bless you for trying to protect Miss Isabella and the Academy.”

      She lost the battle with her smile. “At least I finally understand the source of your anger, misguided though it was. After all, yesterday I did try to wallop you with a tree branch. I know you don’t believe me, but someone really was shooting out here in the woods yesterday. And when the bullet hits the tree trunk inches from my nose, I have to conclude that—albeit by mistake—they were shooting at me. I’ll let the matter drop, however, since it’s obvious I’ve been unable to produce any tangible proof.” She shrugged. “You’ve also helped me realize that my actions might cause Miss Isabella more concern—of course, you know she doesn’t ‘worry!’ I…Well, I’ve grown very fond of your aunt. Ever since my parents’ deaths, I suppose I’ve come to regard her as—”

      She stopped, belatedly aware that the hue of Mr. Faulkner’s tanned face had turned a deep shade of red, and a muscle twitched the corner of his mouth. Ninny, she scolded herself. Few men were comfortable with sentimentality. “I’ll hush,” she murmured, then impulsively reached across to lay her hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry, Mr. Faulkner. I know God is watching over Miss Isabella every breath of every day.”

      Mr. Faulkner snarled an ill-tempered curse. Then, without another word, he turned his back and strode rapidly into the woods, disappearing within seconds beneath the trees.

      Neala remained a few moments longer, watching until she realized she must look like a moon-eyed girl gazing after her sweetheart. Rubbish, she thought. Idiotic, as well, gazing after a man who had just blistered the air with invectives. By the time she found her path back to the school moments later, however, she was forced to admit that loneliness was even harder to bear, after meeting a man like Grayson Faulkner.

      Chapter Seven

      May, 1890

      Two weeks later, after classes on a lazy Thursday afternoon, Neala and Abigail decided to spend their free Saturday hiking down to the Shenandoah River. A picnic on the riverbank would be their reward for the muscle-stretching trek down the steep cliff. To be sure, a well-marked path had been carved out by some Chilton ancestor over a century earlier; more recently Liam had hammered out handholds on some of the steeper sections. The hike posed little danger as long as the hikers exercised due diligence.

      “We’re all of us adult women,” Miss Isabella lectured new students. “Therefore I ‘restrict the restrictions’ here at the Academy, because I expect each of you to exhibit common sense in all your choices. Since fresh air and healthy exercise offer an excellent venue with which to strengthen our individual godly temples, it is my hope that all of you feel free to explore the five hundred acres surrounding the Academy. Carefully. Good sense is a gift from our Lord. Expend it wisely, my dears, and try to limit your nonsense to games of croquet, badminton and the like.”

      “I enjoy Miss Isabella’s sense of humor,” Abby said around a mouthful of oatmeal cookie. “Did you hear her earlier today, pleading with Mr. Pepperell to stop talking to the tomatoes because she’s afraid we’ll end up with such a bumper crop the house might slide off the cliff from the weight?”

      Neala looked up from the list of supplies she was writing down in her tablet. “’Tis very wry, is it not?” she agreed. “I remember when I first arrived I never knew when she was serious, or merely teasing. Um…shall we take lemonade in our canteens, or sassafras tea?”

      “Better stick with tea. I don’t believe we have many lemons in the springhouse right now.”

      Neala dutifully added tea to their list, and they spent several congenial moments discussing other particulars. Then Abby took a deep breath and began fiddling with the eyelet edging of her shirtwaist. “Neala?” she asked, her voice softer. “Are you…I mean, do you still…” She grimaced, her gaze touching on Neala’s, then shifting to some place that bespoke of a pain more vast than the universe. “I had another dream last night,” she finished in a rush. “It wasn’t a nightmare—I don’t have those as much anymore. But I was with my family, and it was so real…” Her hand reached out blindly and Neala grabbed it, wrapping reassuring fingers around it. “I didn’t want to wake up, Neala. I didn’t want to wake up, because then I would have to accept all over again that they’re gone, and I’m not. I’m still here, scarred and disfigured and…and alone. I mean, alone because I know I’ll never marry.”

      “Oh, Abby…” Neala swallowed hard, her own throat tightening against tears. “I understand. Sometimes I still think I need to tell Grandfather, or Mum…” Her voice trailed away. “But I do understand, completely,” she finished. “Your heart sort of jerks when all of a sudden you remember they’re gone. And it hurts so bad it’s hard to breathe.”

      “At least your brother is still alive, even if you never see him again. Oh—I’m sorry, Neala. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Truly I didn’t.”

      “I know.” Neala squeezed her hand once more and released it. They both sat back in the grass and smiled at each other. “Sometimes