Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

needed to speak with her, and soon. Surely Mr. MacDonald would be willing to reverse the transaction. Poor Dorothy. Grabbing at any notion for security. What was she thinking?

He’d talk her into staying on here. Convince her to see sense.

SHE FLUSHED WHEN HE walked into the parlor. Wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her chin rose defiantly despite her reticence. This was not going to be an easy conversation.

“I did what I had to do.”

“There are other ways to get around this problem, you know it.” He walked around the room, closed in.

“I do? Please, explain.” She crossed her arms with impatience.

“Waiting. Here, for instance.” He gestured wide to the handsome room.

She flashed her eyes to his. He swallowed. “Now that is something I cannot do.”

“I hear Chess has been arduous.” He tried not to grimace. He didn’t have anything against the young man, but the thought didn’t please him.

“Who told you that?”

“I’ll tell him to back off. Leave you be. Then you can stay here. Please, let’s not shave land off the farm.” Hammond is going to be furious. Another rage-induced spasm was likely. Life for all of them needed to get back to normal, and this was not the way.

“I’ll tell you plainly.” Her voice steeled. “I visited Uncle and Aunt a few days ago.”

“I heard about that.”

“Then you also know that they consider you a traitor. Because of me. I couldn’t stand by and listen without speaking the truth, and no,” she held up her hand, “I didn’t tell them your secret.”

He relaxed a little.

As was her habit, Dorothy’s arms squeezed around her middle. “Maybe you didn’t hear what he said about me.” Unkind words.

James did know. It grieved him. But selling a chunk of land was no solution. It was only going to cause more trouble. “He thinks you don’t know enough about the farm. You shouldn’t own it at all.”

“No different from what you first thought.” She challenged him. “Still believe it?”

He touched the scarring on his chin. “No...I...don’t know what to think. I’ve lost my best friend. Lost the only family I’ve had in years.” He wanted to say how worried he was for her too.

She grew cool. “You think it’s my fault.”

“No.” He watched as she drooped like a thirsty daisy. She eased into a chair, an arched window framing her small form. Twilight descended. The dinner bell rang, but both ignored the summons.

They were quiet for a while. He perched on the settee, unwilling to ride home until they’d reached a workable solution.

She pressed a hand to her chest. “For the first time in months, I know what to do. Where I need to be.”

He nodded, considering.

“I know the Birch’s would like the cottage back, but I need it right now. Mother left it to me. Most certainly.” She almost laughed. “No confusion on that point.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to live there.” She glanced about the room longingly. “I’m determined not to be in anyone’s way.”

He despised that feeling. Wished he’d been more sensitive to that possibility when she first moved here. How might the situation be different? If they’d all grafted her in like they had when he’d moved next door. Indeed, that might have happened sooner if the matter of the deed had never existed. If Dorothy had never lost her parents. If he’d kept out of Hammond’s affairs. If Hammond had been more responsible. He shut his eyes against the consequences. If he’d only taken better care to do the right thing from the beginning.

He thought she might weep. Instead, her countenance brightened. “Fact is, Uncle is already angry. My decision won’t change anything, will it?”

He hated to agree with her. If Hammond lived through the news...

She rose from her chair, walked over to him, and pronounced carefully, “I need to live.”

In truth, she’d read his mind. He rose too, laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

Was she afraid of Hammond? Certainly able to stand up to him even if she was fearful. “Miss Trafton? Thank you for defending me. Only a true friend does that.” He let his hand drop to his side, allowed his gaze to linger. He wanted to gather her in his arms but...no. He couldn’t.

She sniffed. “I care about the truth more than anything.”

“Don’t I know it.” So did God.

“Uncle does not have my interests at heart. That is clear. He only needs me because I hold the deed.”

James nodded. More truth.

“Aunt sides with him. It’s as though I’m not kin. They’ve tip-toed around me for weeks on end—like I’m some kind of sovereign.”

Only they were right in that regard. She’d fulfilled their worst expectation and dared make a choice without them.

Her voice lowered. “I have a suspicion that the MacDonald’s want the farmland too. I accidently overheard.” She sighed. “Oh, I feel that Mrs. MacDonald truly cares for me. She’s been so giving.” She drew a handkerchief across her eyes and whispered. “I am being squeezed at every side.”

Their eyes met again. How well he knew the feeling.

Chess walked in. “What are you two doing alone?” A dramatic brow lifted.

Dorothy stepped farther back. James exhaled in frustration.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Chess chewed his bottom lip, nodding his head. “Coming to supper? Both of you?”

James reached toward Dorothy. She slid her small hand there, and quietly went with the men.

Chapter 27

JUNE 1, 1880

Mr. Bleu is not pleased with my decision. Clearly. His opinion shows even through his polite attempts to appear understanding. His lingering silences say everything. Hurt like everything else. I only hope I sold the land for near the amount Father had given—fair play. I still haven’t gone through the box again, as busy as I’ve been.

Though I know I must, I haven’t wanted to pray for Uncle or Aunt. Or anyone who has cast me aside based on a false belief. A pathetic pursuit to retain what is lost to them. I aim to smooth this over one day. I do. Perhaps when Helen and Kirsten come around or