Haviland Dances Naked

The Fairies Saga, #4
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-950592-11-1
Verlag: Chill Out! Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 4, 232 Seiten

Reihe: The Fairies Saga

Three strangers from diverse times and cultures overcome adversity and come together for survival, finding new versions of family and happiness in this gritty and sometimes humorous time travel story.
Fed up with her domineering brother, Rachel and her infant son leave to find happiness with the Cherokee. Two more white folks unexpectedly join her new clan, causing confusion but also providing a novel solution to one of tribe's biggest problems: no food.
20th century-born Lord Martin Melbourne had received his master's degree from Oxford but was also well-learned in folklore and the Tuatha De' Danann legends. He knew that fairies weren't pastel-colored, exaggerated flying insects-they were real entities with remarkable skills. They could move from one place to another easily-or from one time to another. He had studied The Letters, the centuries-old epistles written by the time traveler Evie to her 21st-century daughter, Leah. From these, he learned that a human, too, could move through time. He had done it himself, traveled back to 1781, and saved the life of his sons' ancestor. Now he wanted to go back home to 2013. But he was lost in the wilds of North Carolina. He needed his new Cherokee friend to show him the way back to The Trees, the magnetic time portal between the centuries. But first, he'd have to wait until Red Shirt was done with him.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Haviland, Dani

Leseproben

Chapter 3: The Unwelcome Stranger

Pomeroy’s Place,

Wallace decided to call the job done – he had whacked enough weeds for the day. He walked in from the back of the garden, admiring its progress as he approached the house. A smug grin of satisfaction settled on his face as he replaced the hoe into the tool rack. He had to set a good example for Jenny. She was easily distracted and tended to go from one task to another before cleaning up after herself. He had moved the tool rack down two feet lower just so she could reach it without a stool. It was hard to believe that she had been in their lives for less than two weeks. She had fit in with all of them from the very beginning, the thumb in the glove of his family.

Suddenly he heard an unfamiliar sound. It was a man coughing – a hoarse, rattling cough that ended with a wet sounding discharge. He looked over at the source of the noise. Next to the barn was a gangly stranger, his hands busy as he walked along the north wall, picking up the nesting boxes, peering under and around each one, then setting it back down. The raggedy man was unknown to him and was being a bit too familiar with his investigation of the Pomeroy property. Neighbors and travelers always approached the house and announced themselves before going to the barn. He tried his best not to judge a person, ever, but especially not before speaking with him. But he didn’t like this man. There was something sinister and uncomfortable about him.

Wallace walked toward the barn and the stranger. He looked back toward the house to verify that his little family was safe. He saw Jenny holding Wren and Evie with another baby. What? That wasn’t his child – it was too big. Or rather, it was too long. His babies were shorter, but nice and round and filled out. This one was scrawny and had a very red face. Oh, there she was – the other mother. A sad faced young woman, very pregnant and obviously tired, leaned against the doorway. Sarah was tending to the kitchen fire. By the scowl on her face, it looked as if she was getting ready to get busy. The snooping man must be part of that little family.

Regardless, whether he liked the looks of the man and his nosy attitude or not, his own sense of propriety dictated that an introduction was in order.

Wallace walked over to the man who was now inside the barn, lifting the coil of rope from the wooden peg. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Wallace Pomeroy-Hart. May I help you?”

The scruffy man looked down at the offered hand then back up at Wallace. “Do you live here?” he asked, foregoing the handshake, and ignoring the question.

Wallace brought his hand back to his side, surreptitiously wiping his palm on his pants. The proximity of the man to him made him feel dirty. But Wallace wasn’t a small man in any respect. He would turn the other cheek at the man’s snub. He pulled himself up to his full six-foot five-inch height and answered, “This place belongs to my father and his family. I live here, as does my wife, four children, father, and mother-in-law. What business do you have here, sir?”

The man looked up at Wallace, squinted one eye and snorted, “Hmph,” then walked outside, once again dismissing Wallace’s question by ignoring it.

The man’s attitude was one Wallace had never encountered. It was more than rude and beyond disrespectful. This man obviously didn’t have an ounce of courtesy or respect for another person’s property, either. Now he was walking toward the grain storage shack. “Excuse me, sir,” he called after the nameless stranger. “There’s nothing in there for you.”

“Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t,” sneered the man with no name. He grabbed the crossbar and jerked on it, trying to pull it out of its brackets.

Wallace leaned back against the fence post and grinned. The man didn’t know about the locking pins that were hidden on the bottom of the supports. No Name spat on his hands and tried again, grunting, and sweating more and more with each attempt. Wallace sighed loudly but didn’t say anything. “Well, it’s the wrong time of year for the whisky anyway,” the man said as he turned away from the locked door, admitting defeat with his sour grapes explanation.

Wallace walked behind Mr. Rudeness as he headed toward Sarah and the fire pit. The stranger stood right in front of her and demanded without preamble, “Where’s the meat you promised.”

Sarah lifted her arm and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. Wallace could see she was trying hard not to lose her temper.

Sarah bit her bottom lip as she composed her reply, holding her angry reaction in check with her teeth. When she realized Wallace had walked up to join the conversation, she relaxed her clench. Her son-in-law nodded to her that he could handle the situation, so she let him do the talking.

“We’ll be having meat on the spit this evening,” Wallace said. “You and your family are welcome to join us, Mr…”

The stranger turned sharply and glared at Wallace then turned his attention back to Sarah. “You didn’t say we’d have to wait for nightfall. Give me the food for the road then, and we’ll leave now. We have a long ways to go.”

Sarah inhaled deeply which, rather than having a calming effect, seemed to fuel her fire of impatience. She wasn’t going to let this man intimidate her, even if he was a master of that black art. She had Wallace here for protection if the scum did decide to get physical, although he seemed the type who worked with words only.

“Your sister won’t be able to go anywhere for a few days,” she said through clenched teeth. “She’s going to deliver the baby tonight. If you want to eat, you’ll just have to wait a bit longer. I can offer you bread and ale for now, but the meat will be a few hours more.”

Sarah looked up and behind the man to Wallace. He once again gave a slight nod. She didn’t have to tell him what was going on. He knew childbirthing was neither a quick nor an easy task. He looked at her again to make sure she understood that yes, he would tend to the meat for dinner and anything else that was needed.

“Where’s the whisky?” the man demanded. “You said there’d be whisky.”

“I, I did not!” Sarah blurted out with exasperation. “I told you we had ale. Wallace,” Sarah was biting her bottom lip again, trying to contain her steadily increasing rage at the man’s rudeness, “would you get mister…what is your name?” she demanded. He wasn’t going to get anything else until she at least knew his name.

“Mr. Grant MacLeod, if you really need to know, which you don’t,” he said as he looked up toward the sun, apparently trying to gauge the time of day.

Sarah and Wallace looked at each other quickly, then broke eye contact. Sarah bent back down to the kettle with the muslin bags of black cohosh root, juniper berries, slippery elm, and rue. Wallace looked over at Evie, making sure she was alright. Did she know who this man was, or at least his family name? Yes, she probably did. She was frowning and staring down the road to the mill, rubbing her left shoulder, the shoulder where she had been shot less than two weeks ago by that worthless excuse for a man, Captain Atholl MacLeod. Wallace looked back to the pregnant woman. He saw her gaze at his children in the playpen, a slight smile trying to crack the stone countenance. Then she put her hand on the top of her swollen belly and the chance-at-happiness glow was gone, a hard, angry scowl replacing it.

“Well, where’s the ale?” groused Grant. “I’m thirsty!”

Wallace shifted his eyes over to the ungrateful guest. Something was very wrong with this scenario, but he would have to wait to find out more. He wasn’t going to speak with Sarah or Evie about it until this man was out of hearing range. “Why don’t you go sit down in the shade of that tree over there? I’ll bring you a bottle of ale and a bit of bread. Would that suit you?” Wallace asked with only a slight hint of disgust.

“Better make that three bottles – I don’t want you havin’ to run back and forth all the time,” he replied, ending his comment with a sinister laugh that made both Sarah and Wallace shudder.

***

“How did you wind up with him?” Wallace asked Sarah as they headed to the springhouse.

“Lord only knows,” she replied sharply. She looked over at the practically catatonic mother who would have to deliver a dead baby later. “Yes, the Lord does know,” she said, this time with determination. “And I’ll do my best to save the mother. The baby’s already dead.”

Wallace’s eyes widened with shock.

She continued, “Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t know. The baby has been dead for a few days. We have to get it out before the mother dies, too. Her other child is in rough shape but can bounce back with good care. Wallace, the baby is Atholl MacLeod, Jr. The woman is Rachel and she said that… that ‘Grant’ is her brother. Do you think…”

“Hey, where’s the ale?” hollered Grant. He had pulled a quilt off the clothesline and was wadding it up to use as a pillow.

Wallace gritted his teeth. He swallowed his rising anger and counted to ten in Latin before he spoke. “I’ll be right there,” he called out. He put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said softly, then headed to the springhouse for the ale.

I heard the shouting about ale and realized that the brother would probably want something to eat, too. Hopefully he was the type who would eat and drink, then fall asleep....