Loving Linsey Page 2

  Despite his best effort, Daniel felt the old resentment surfacing inside him. Swift. Bitter. Uncontrollable. His hands—his prized hands, usually so sure and steady—began to shake. A film of fire crept across his vision. Even his head started reeling.

  The strength of his anger toward her, even after all this time, rattled Daniel. He took a step backward, then another. The edge of the door frame finally jabbed him in the back, stopping his retreat. Nothing cowardly about it, he told himself, feeling a muscle in his eye twitch. Not when it took all the control he could muster not to throttle her.

  The temptation must have shown in his eyes, for her gaze fell to the floor. A mumbled excuse he couldn’t make out—didn’t want to make out—cut through the silence in the room just before she dashed past him and the other men, out the back door.

  Oren glanced at Robert and jerked his thumb toward Linsey’s fleeing form. “What’s got her so spooked?”

  “Ole Bleet’s ghost?” Jarvis snickered as if he’d actually said something funny. Neither Oren nor Daniel laughed.

  Instead Daniel glared out the back door, his soul simmering at the sight of the woman running across the yard, petticoats flapping, bustle bobbing. He couldn’t begin to either guess or care about whatever force had sent her fleeing from the house. The woman could be running from death itself and he’d be damned if he’d lift a finger to stop it.

  As far as he was concerned, Linsey Gordon had earned his malice the day she’d dumped his dreams into Horseshoe Creek.

  Blindly, Linsey raced to the top of Briar Hill Road, not stopping until she reached the two-story Victorian-style house built by Great-Grandaddy Gordon nearly fifty years ago. Once she let herself inside, she pressed herself against the heavy oak door as if to barricade herself from the repugnance in Daniel’s eyes. Of all the people to run into on the most tragic day of her life, why did it have to be him?

  Oh, Lordy, she could hardly believe that for a moment there, she’d almost given into impulse, thrown herself into his arms, and begged him to set her broken world to rights.

  How could she have been so desperate?

  Worse, how could she have been so tempted?

  With a distressed moan, she shut her eyes, then wished she hadn’t. Her mind instantly filled with a picture of her laid out in a casket like Bleet Haggar’s, wearing her daisy-chain necklace and best blue watered silk gown—the one she hoped to marry in someday. Her hands were crossed over her chest, her face pasty white. She saw Aunt Louisa and Addie clinging to each other, tears tracking down their faces, the sound of weeping rolling down the grassy slopes of the Horseshoe cemetery. . . .

  Her eyes snapped open. Oh, Lord, what had she done?

  Somehow her legs brought her into the front room, past the massive blond fireplace of native stone to a damask settee surrounded by rose-printed armchairs. She sank down on the cushion, her black skirts billowing about her. Catching a glimpse of a white ribbon peeking out from beneath the sofa, Linsey bent low. A humorless laugh escaped her as she pulled the amulet from its hiding place. Tears sprang to her eyes, and through misty vision, Linsey traced the lucky shamrock trapped between two thin sheets of crystal rimmed in gold. Her Token of Good Fortune. The day she’d found it, Aunt Louisa had told her it would bring her luck. That day it had brought her Addie, the sister she’d always wanted but never thought she’d have. And over the next fifteen years, the good fortune had kept coming.

  Where had the four-leaf clover been when she needed it most?

  So much for her pocketfuls of charms. All of them had been utterly useless today, for despite them, she had done the unthinkable. She’d looked in a mirror in the house where a corpse had been laid out. She’d seen her reflection.

  And now, before the end of the year, she . . . was going . . . to die.

  Chapter 2

  Should you look in a mirror

  in the house where a corpse does lie,

  you’ll see the reflection of the next to die.

  “You did what?”

  The exclamation resounded through the lace and light oak decor of Linsey’s room late Sunday night.

  It had taken two days to build up the courage to tell Addie the news. Two full days of anguish, misery, woe, and desperation.

  Now as Linsey looked at the fair-haired woman sitting beside her on the canopy bed, she wished with all her heart that she could spare her sister this knowledge. But they had never kept a secret from each other before; this wasn’t the time to start. If anyone had a right to know the truth, Addie did. Just because they’d become siblings by marriage rather than blood didn’t make the bond between them any less strong. In fact, Linsey often wondered if they weren’t closer than true sisters, because Adelaide Witt had been a wish granted rather than a relative forced—proof positive that portents could be wonderful as well as dreadful.

  Linsey reached over to clasp Addie’s cool hand with her own. She looked deeply into the innocent hazel gaze fixed on her and calmly repeated, “I looked into a mirror at Bleet Haggar’s wake.”

  A taut stretch of silence followed, broken only by the steady tick-tock of the brass clock on her vanity table. Linsey didn’t bother expanding on the statement. She didn’t need to. The growing look of horror on her sister’s face told her that Addie understood the ramifications of what she’d done.

  “How could this possibly have happened?” she asked, her tone half disbelieving, half distressed.

  Linsey spilled the sordid details, leaving out nothing. Well, except for her encounter with Daniel. Not only did it have no real bearing on the issue at hand, but neither did Linsey wish to relive what a fool she’d made of herself when she’d run into him. Thank God he’d pushed her away before she’d given into the temptation to throw herself into his arms and beg him not to let go. She’d done some embarrassing things in her short twenty years but that would have topped the list—because for all his healing ways, Daniel Sharpe was the last person she could ever, or would ever, go to for comfort.

  When she finished relating the events, she folded her hands in her lap and waited, braced for Addie’s response. One advantage to knowing someone for so long was being able to anticipate how they would react in certain situations.

  She wasn’t disappointed.

  “I can’t believe this!” Addie cried. “How could you do such a reckless thing? You’re usually so careful!”

  “How was I supposed to know there was an uncovered mirror in the bedroom? All the others had sheets draped over them.”

  “You shouldn’t have been in the bedroom in the first place.”

  Linsey crossed her arms in a pose of defense. “You’d rather I let Mrs. Harvey trap me into a corner and wax poetic about her darling Bishop?”

  “Considering the consequences, yes!” Addie sprang off the bed and began to pace the room in agitation. “There must be something we can do to stop this. Some way to counteract—”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Linsey interrupted. She didn’t blame Addie for asking; hadn’t she asked the same question herself a dozen times or more? She’d even spent the better part of the weekend searching through Aunt Louisa’s book of divinations for possible solutions. Still, it all came down to the same answer. “This isn’t something that can be stopped, Addie. It’s not like a magic spell that can be reversed, or a contract that can be negotiated: it’s an omen. A foreshadowing of a future event. The most I can do is make the best of what time I have left.”

  “So you’re just going to accept it as your lot,” Addie accused.

  Linsey hitched up one shoulder and sighed. “I don’t see that I have much choice. We all turn up our toes sooner or later. It’s inevitable. I figure that maybe I’m luckier than most—at least I’ve been given warning. You know, time to prepare, to make a few arrangements, to do some things I’ve always wanted to do but never got around to. . . .”

  Addie stared at her as if she had rats crawling in her hair.

  “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.
” Linsey rose from the bed and strode to her rosewood vanity. From the middle drawer she withdrew a folded sheet of paper, secured with a wax seal in the shape of a clover. “And I’ve decided that three months isn’t very long to make a difference, but I want to try.”

  She returned to the bed, pulled an unresisting Addie down beside her, and held out the paper. “With your help.”

  Reluctantly Addie took the note Linsey handed her. “What’s this?”

  “Well, it occurred to me that I have not done one memorable thing in my life—or at least, nothing I especially want to be remembered for.” The realization had hit home during Bleet’s graveside service yesterday morning. An hour of listening to Reverend Simon praise the wheelwright’s many virtues had been torture. A stark reminder that one day between now and the end of the year, her neighbors would be gathering around her grave and reciting psalms . . . but little more. Bleet had been remembered for his kindness, his generosity, his honesty . . . what would she be remembered for?

  Considering some of the colorful scrapes she’d gotten herself into over the years, the idea didn’t bear imagining.

  But one thing had become clear: she couldn’t just sit around waiting for the hatchet to fall.

  Gesturing toward the paper, Linsey said, “I’ve made a list of things I want to do in the time I’ve got left.”

  Addie broke the seal with her fingernail, unfolded the paper, and read, “Make amends to someone I have wronged. Bring a life into the world to replace the one I’m leaving behind. Never tell another lie?”

  “I want to be remembered for my honesty.”

  She continued silently reading the items Linsey had painstakingly scribed in the deep hours of the night: Go on an adventure. Do something I have never done before. Make a difference in someone’s life. Contribute something lasting to the community . . .

  Finished, Addie carefully refolded the paper. “This is quite a list.”

  “I know.” Linsey couldn’t remember everything she’d written, but by the time she’d been through, she’d filled all of one page and half of another. “Will you help me?”

  Addie jerked to her feet and strode to the window. For a long time she said nothing. She simply stood there with her arms around her middle, looking vulnerable and lost, so much like the little girl who had come to live at Briar House so many years ago.

  Oh, Lordy, she’d known Addie would take the news hard. She’d always been the more sensitive of the two, which, Linsey supposed, accounted for why she herself sought so desperately to remain calm, composed, and collected now. To be strong for Addie. The two of them had been like bread and butter since they were five years old, when Linsey’s father and Addie’s mother sent Addie here to live. She’d been such a shy and withdrawn little creature then, with hair like sunshine and somber olive-brown eyes too big for her face—so opposite from Linsey, who had inherited her father’s vibrant coloring and zest for adventure.

  Where had all the time gone?

  It seemed like just yesterday that she and Addie had gotten caught stealing a rabbit from the local butcher so it wouldn’t end up in the stewpot. Then there had been the summer they decided to “cure” Addie of her fear of heights by jumping off the rocks at Turtle Point—it had taken Addie’s broken leg six weeks to mend.

  Images continued to roll through Linsey in a bittersweet wave. Tea parties at two in the morning. Skinny dipping in the minister’s pond. Linsey’s first kiss from that awful Harvey boy. They’d practically scrubbed her lips off her face, trying to get rid of the taste. And the day Addie got her teaching certificate—how they’d celebrated by eating so much ice cream that they’d emptied their stomachs on Daisy and Maisy Bender’s front porch.

  When Addie’s sorrow-filled gaze lifted to hers, Linsey knew she’d been remembering, too.

  “What am I supposed to do when you’re gone?” she whispered. “Who will I turn to at the end of a trying day? Who will help me plan my schedules, sit with me in church, and spin dreams under the clouds?”

  Unshed tears scalded the back of Linsey’s eyes. “Oh, Addie . . .”

  She pushed herself off the coverlet and met her sister at the window. Together they stared out over the yard, where a line of shedding cedars marked the back property line, and the broadleaf sweet gums displayed a riot of burnt orange and gold. Vibrantly feathered blue jays and cardinals dived from the branches, then soared up again in a spectacular aerial performance. In spite of the burst of color outside the window, the waning afternoon remained as drab and dreary as gray wool, matching their mood.

  “I never thought anything could ever come between us,” Addie said.

  Linsey swallowed. A lump the size of Texas slid down her throat. “Me either.” Forcing a bright note to her voice, she chimed, “Look at it this way; I’m not dead yet. I have until the year is out—that gives us three good months together.”

  “At best.”

  The softly spoken words made Linsey’s heart constrict. “Yes. At best.”

  Silently their heads tilted into each other. Temple pressed against temple. Hands clasped in a plea for strength and courage.

  Linsey wished she could find words of wisdom. Of comfort. But there was nothing left to say.

  “I love you, Linsey-woolsey.”

  The childhood nickname nearly shattered her flagging composure. “I love you, too, Addie.”

  A chilly draft roused Linsey from sleep the next morning. Keeping her eyes closed, she lay still, relishing the breath of October air against her skin. For as long as she lived—be it days or months—she’d not take the sensation for granted again.

  The hard part was over, though: telling Addie. They’d stayed up half the night, whispering, reminiscing, planning . . .

  Lordy, she had to stop these melancholy thoughts—she had a list to carry out! Kicking her feet from beneath the thick quilt, Linsey tugged her nightrail so the satin folds fell about her ankles. She still wasn’t sure how she’d accomplish each task she’d set for herself, but lying abed simply wasted time, and that was not a commodity she had in excess. Surely opportunities would present themselves, if only she looked. They certainly wouldn’t come flying through the window into her lap!

  That image made her giggle as she crossed the polished oak floor to stoke the embers in the fireplace. No sounds of stirring came from the next room. Addie undoubtedly slept on. Linsey hated to wake her, but school couldn’t start without the teacher.

  She rapped against the wall that separated their bedrooms. “Addie, time to get up.”

  “I’m awake.”

  Assured by the drowsy, muffled reply, Linsey chose a high-necked, black-and-burgundy striped day dress from her wardrobe, then stripped out of her nightgown, tossing it over a chair on her way to the bureau. Lucky trinkets littered the surface: seashells, a Liberty Lady coin, a piece of coal from the first mine of the area.

  Her gaze lit on the daguerreotype of her parents. She brushed her fingers along the silver frame. Her father looked as dashing as a knight of old in his calvary uniform. He was a burly man with dark blue eyes, a shock of flame-colored hair, and muttonchop whiskers. Standing beside him with a dainty hand resting on his broad shoulder, her mother represented the epitome of a refined Southern belle. No doubt men of all ages had been swept away by Genevieve’s wild black curls and striking green eyes. But she’d chosen Lyle Gordon, the son of a neighboring cotton farmer. They’d married before the War Between the States broke out and Linsey had been born soon after.

  When the war ended, Major Lyle Gordon had transferred his commission out West. Mother thought a formal education and stable environment would be better for Linsey than the harshness of military life, so they’d left her in Aunt Louisa’s care. Six months later, Genevieve had been stricken down with fever.

  Linsey thought her father would come for her after her mother died. Instead he married again, a young widow named Evelyn Witt who not only supported his military career, she gloried in it—so much so that her only child, a
little girl Linsey’s age, had arrived on Aunt Louisa’s doorstep the very next spring. To this day, Lyle and Evelyn remained in Indian territory.

  Would they miss her? Maybe a little, Linsey decided. She knew her father and stepmother loved her, for they came to visit as often as her father’s duties allowed. They simply loved each other more.

  As the downstairs chime sounded the half hour, Linsey pulled away from the picture before her thoughts turned maudlin. “Addie, you best hurry or you’ll be late for school,” she called.

  Seconds later, Addie’s voice sounded from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for my lucky earbobs.”

  “Too little, too late if you ask me,” she grumbled.

  “It’s never too late for good luck.” Even in her case. And now she needed all the good luck she could garner. “Aha, here they are!” Finding the pair of rubies buried at the bottom of her jewelry chest, she attached them to her ears, only to stop at the sight of her sister. Her eyes were swollen and red, her complexion paler than normal.

  “For the love of Gus, Addie, you can’t go to school looking like that! What will your students think if they see you looking like you’ve tussled with a beehive? Come over here and let me put some cold cloths on your face.”

  Compliantly Addie allowed Linsey to guide her to the stool in front of the vanity. After Linsey pressed cold, wet cloths into Addie’s hands, she picked up a silver-plated brush and started working the tangles out of Addie’s straight blond hair.

  “Where are you running off to so early?” her sister asked.

  “The orphanage. But I want to stop by the smithy first and see if Oren has any nails made. I’m giving Noah and Jenny one of my lucky horseshoes to hang in their new home after the wedding.” She didn’t dare bring up the possibility that she might not be around next month for the ceremony; Addie looked as if she’d had enough distress heaped upon her.

  But the mention of their childhood friend brought a sharp pang of regret. The ache remained with Linsey as she brushed Addie’s long pale hair, then twisted it into a chignon at her nape. Linsey had lost count of the dreams she and Addie had shared over the last few years. Of meeting a handsome fellow, marrying in a double ceremony, and building homes side by side so they’d never be apart. . . .