Authors: Rachelle Morgan
Loving Linsey
In memory of my grandmother,
Kathleen Yarber Badenhoop,
who provided the inspiration
To Karen N.,
Who would have thought that the day you first put a romance novel in my hands, you would soon after be reading my first manuscript?
I often think that the day we met was one of the luckiest of my life. You've been my coworker, my roommate, my in-law, the godmother of my children, and my dearest friend, and for over fifteen years, we've shared our deepest sorrows and greatest joys. You've laughed with me, cried with me, and come to my rescue more times than I can count. You may not have been the sister of my blood, but you'll always be the sister of my heart.
This book is for you.
Love,
S.     Â
Chapter 1
The ill-omened number thirteen has been regarded as a symbol of death, destruction, and misfortune since ancient Roman times.
Horseshoe, Texas
1882
W
hoever had come up with the lackwit idea to hold a wake today of all days should have had their brain examined. Surely everyone knew that the Friday after a rainstorm brought bad luckâbut when that Friday also fell on the thirteenth of the month, well, bad luck turned pure rotten.
Even so, it took only one look around the crowded parlor for Linsey Gordon to see that prophecy had done little to dissuade most everyone in Horseshoe, Texas, from turning out for Bleet Haggar's wake.
Flames from dozens of floral-scented candles placed about the room managed to dispel a bit of the gloom and cast a yellow glow on the group of somberly dressed gentlemen shuffling between the kitchen and parlor like
lost hounds. A score of women in gathered black dresses and wide-brimmed, veiled hats sniffled into hankies. The cry of the Neelys' new baby grew distant as his young mother carried him out of the room for his afternoon feeding.
No, not one of the familiar faces seemed particularly bothered by the fact that the sitting-in was being held on such an unlucky day.
Habit had Linsey reaching for the smooth crystal disk that always hung around her neck, before it hit that she'd not find it in its usual resting spot. With a troubled frown, she let her hand drop to her lap. She couldn't recall where she'd misplaced her Token of Good Fortune, but more than ever she needed its comforting presence. The amulet had guarded her for fifteen of her twenty years, and she could surely use its protective qualities now.
Well, she supposed with a sigh, she'd just have to make do with the sprig of ivy tucked in her right pocket, the piece of coal in her left, and the Lady Liberty coin in her black kid slipper.
Folks could think her peculiar all they wanted, but she'd seen too many of her Aunt Louisa's portents and omens come true to take them lightly; terrible prices had been paid by those who did. Why, just last summer, Ollie James had spilled a saltcellar while dining in the town's restaurant; that night lightning struck his house, burning it to the ground. Then there was the time Elmer Puckett over at the general store lost a whole shipment
of merchandise after he walked under a ladder.
And if the Haggars had paid any heed to the cock that had crowed three times in their yard, a black wreath would not now be hanging on the outside of their door.
Linsey's gaze wandered about the parlor, purposely skipping over the pine casket resting on a pair of sawhorses at the front of the room. At least the clock on the sideboard had been stopped, breaking the time cycle so another death would not occur. And several frames on the walls wore shrouds, while other hangings had been turned backside out or taken down all together. There were no bare mirrors where one might glimpse one's reflection, no pictures that might slip from their nails. . . .
The measures taken to prevent another death had the mark of Aunt Louisa all over them, bless her heart, for if anyone understood Linsey's caution, her great-aunt did. Wakes were notorious for being prophetic disasters, and Gordon women just didn't attend them without seeing to certain necessary preparations.
Still, as the respectful hum of conversation continued around her, Linsey couldn't stop wishing that this whole affair would just be over with. It wasn't that she hadn't been as fond of Bleet as the next person; the wheelwright had been a jolly fellow, well-liked by all his neighbors. But she could think of a dozen more sensible ways to pass an autumn afternoon than sitting in a parlor courting disaster.
Her foot began a rapid tap on the floor, as if it could spur the minutes into passing faster. It didn't. If anything, each moment crawled by at a turtle's pace.
Finally the sight of a bow-backed woman making her way down the row provided a welcome distraction. Like the other ladies in attendance, Aunt Louisa wore traditional mourningâa wide-brimmed hat with a half veil over her eyes and a gathered black dress. The camel's hair and Chantilly lace gown that hung on her spare figure was several years old, for one never wore anything new to a funeral.
Linsey immediately stopped the motion of her foot, smiled, and discreetly waved her aunt over.
Aunt Louisa settled into the empty chair beside Linsey and remarked, “I'm surprised Addie isn't here keeping you company.”
The old woman's voice, reedy yet beloved, had a marginally calming effect. “She'll be along shortly,” Linsey replied. “She had a few papers to grade before the weekend.”
“Making excuses as usual.”
Linsey bit back a grin. In spite of Aunt Louisa's fragile appearance and failing eyesight, she remained amazingly sharp-witted for an eighty-nine year old woman. Addie hated funerals and would avoid this one altogether if she had a legitimate reason. Linsey couldn't say she blamed her, either.
“Poor, poor Mr. Haggar.” Aunt Louisa plucked a black hanky from within her cuff and dabbed at her eyes. “It's just a cryin'
shame, isn't it?” she said to the flock of women seated nearby.
A half dozen hat-bedecked heads nodded agreement.
“I can't say I'm surprised, though,” Aunt Louisa went on. “I knew something like this would happen as soon as I heard that cock crow yesterday morning.” She shook her head, causing one of her silvery braids to slip from its moorings. “As my dear mother used to say, âMonday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all . . .”
Thursday for losses, Friday for Crosses, Saturday no luck at all
, Linsey silently joined in the familiar verse. It actually had nothing to do with dying, but in choosing the day of the week a couple should wed; however, Aunt Louisa insisted that it applied it to every occasion.
“What's that you're muttering, Louisa?” Persistence Yearling asked from the next row up, propping her brass hearing horn against her ear.
Aunt Louisa raised her voice for the centenarian's benefit. “A rhyme, Granny Yearling.”
“A what?”
People across the room turned to stare.
“A rhyme,” Aunt Louisa shouted, her hand cupped at the side of her mouth. “I was muttering a rhyme.”
“What in blue blazes did you bring a rind to a wake for?” Persistence shot back. “Normal folks bring flowers.”
Linsey suppressed her laughter as Granny Yearling's remark instigated a round of bickering
with Linsey's equally feisty aunt. She could always count on these two to liven things up.
Or perhaps “liven” wasn't an appropriate word, she thought with an immediate frown. Oh, Lordy, she really needed to get out of here. . . .
The notion gripped harder a second later when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Judith Harvey, the mayor's wife, threading her way toward her.
Oh, no!
The determined look in the buxom matron's face sent dread careening through Linsey.
“Aunt Louisa, I need to . . . use the privy,” she completed in a rush.
Without waiting for a reply, Linsey gathered a fistful of her black organdy skirts and scrambled out of her chair. The last thing she needed on an already doomed day was to get pinned in a corner by the meddling matchmaker!
She ducked into the kitchen only to find it occupied by two of her male neighbors, both looking quite uncomfortable in their dark suits and stiff paper collars. Oren Potter, the blacksmith, looked up in surprise while Robert Jarvis, the lamplighter, standing at the stove, lowered the metal flask from his mouth and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Yoo-hoo, Linsey . . .”
The familiar trill kicked Linsey's heart into a panicked beat, the clack of her heels on the wooden floor grew louder. Without a second glance at the men, Linsey dashed out a side doorway. Another group of neighbors had congregated in the foyer leading to the front
door
, but to Linsey's left, a short hallway remained mercifully clear.
Linsey hastened down the hallway and turned the knob of the first door she came to. She didn't care where the door led, only that it offered escape from a woman whose persistence would try the patience of the good Lord Himself.
Slipping inside the room, Linsey shut the door and pressed her forehead against the wood.
Whew, Lordy! That was close!
If she'd had to suffer another afternoon of listening to Mrs. Harvey invent nonexistent virtues about her lazy oaf of a son . . . for the love of Gus, everyone knew Bishop Harvey was little more than a wastrel in training.
Everyone but his mother, that is.
Well, she was safe for the time being. Mrs. Harvey wouldn't think to come looking for her inâLinsey turned around to identify her havenâa bedroom. A pretty little bedroom, too, decorated in shades of peach and blue. A wide tester bed with embroidered pillows at the headboard commandeered the center of the floor, a glossy walnut-stained bureau hugged one wall, and a . . .
Linsey gasped. Her eyes shot wide open.
Avoiding Judith Harvey lost its importance.
Forgotten were the mourners in the next room.
Thoughts of Bleet's unfortunate death scattered like ashes on a windy day.
Linsey's gaze remained transfixed on the sectional mirror making up the back of a curio cabinet set in the corner. Elegant figurines, a
pair of lace gloves, and an onyx ring served as the backdrop for a horrified image.
Her own.
The mouth-watering aromas of fresh meat pies and baked bread had Daniel's stomach growling like a summer thunderstorm before he even reached the Haggar's porch. He hadn't eaten sinceâhe paused with one foot on the bottom stepâearly this morning? Last night? Hell, he couldn't remember.