Always and Forever: Murder in the Heart of Horse Country

Part 1

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Chapter 1

Abigail sat on her rocking chair on the veranda opposite her dear mother, Elizabeth, meticulously stitching bright red thread onto the coarse Osnaburg linen to create a delicate pansy. She wanted to make a gift for Elizabeth, who sat in her chair in a trance-like state, gently rocking back and forth. The distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves provided a serene backdrop.

Essie stepped through the screen door and onto the porch, carrying a tray of drinks. She put them down on a small table.

I brought you some of my special tea, Missus Elizabeth. She picked up a glass and offered it to Elizabeth. It’s my special blend of herbs from the garden, Missus Elizabeth. You know—the ones you like so well.

Elizabeth Turnor stared straight ahead.

Essie picked up a palm frond and fanned the woman. Come on, Missus Elizabeth, you have to eat and drink something. You can’t sit out here all day in the heat. You’ll make yourself sick.

Elizabeth continued to stare.

Essie nervously tapped her foot and glanced at Abigail. Miss Abigail, please talk to your mama. All she does is sit here in this rocking chair all day. She don’t eat, she don’t drink. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do?

Abigail raised her head and smiled. Ouch! She dropped her embroidery in her lap and put her forefinger in her mouth.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now what have you done to yourself, child? Essie put the glass down on the table, wiped her palms on her apron, and shuffled over to Abigail.

Oh, Essie, it’s nothing, just a little pinprick. She took her finger out of her mouth and held it up so the motherly woman could see. See, it’s stopped bleeding already.

Humph. Essie returned to Elizabeth’s side.

From the road came the steady clop, clop of a horse’s hooves. When they stopped, there was a sudden eerie stillness in the air.

Abigail looked up. At the front gate, a man dismounted from his horse.

Nathan? Abigail murmured. She stood, and the needle and thread fell to her feet. Nathan? she said louder. She clapped her hands, then covered her mouth as she moved to the porch steps.

Essie raised her head and looked at Abigail. Child, that ain’t no Nathan. She stared at the stranger leaning on the gate and moved closer to Abigail. Miss Abigail, you put your bonnet on before entertaining gentlemen callers. Essie thrust a straw hat into Abigail’s hand.

Abigail absently tied her bonnet around her chin. She smoothed the wrinkles from her calico dress, daintily lifted her skirts, and stepped down the stairs. Perhaps, Essie, he has news of the return of my darling, Nathan.

Essie pressed her lips together and tapped her foot. Miss Abigail, take care. No telling who that stranger might be. Essie’s gaze shifted toward the gardens beside the house where Henry and Tom were working. Every day, she thanked God for keeping her family together. Essie placed her hand gently on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She spoke softly to the grieving widow in hushed tones. Missus Elizabeth, I don’t know how we’re going to handle that child of yours. She so ate up inside with grief for her beau. I wishing we knew what became of him. Essie watched Abigail hurry down the path to the gate. She frowned and gently patted Elizabeth’s shoulder.

With a light touch, Elizabeth’s delicate hand came into contact with the rugged, work-worn hand of the other woman. Her sigh echoed softly, like a gentle breeze rustling through the trees.

Essie tenderly squeezed her hand.

Chapter 2

Abigail stepped closer to the gate and slowed. Her heart sank. This stranger in dusty, worn clothing was not her Nathan. Her eyes widened and she approached the gate slowly.

The man took off his bowler hat and bowed slightly. His light sandy brown hair hung limp past his dirty ears. Good day, miss. Would this be the Turnor residence of Bellamy Road?

Abigail paused. She turned slightly to view the men working in the field. Their hoeing came to a halt as they watched the stranger and Abigail. Essie held her head high, her hands resting on her broad hips. She glared down from the porch. Suddenly, a murder of crows exploded out of the underbrush, their wings flapping loudly. The sound of their cawing filled the air as they circled overhead.

Please excuse the intrusion, miss. The man placed the bowler against his chest. I mean you no harm. His face, covered in dirt, shone with a radiant smile. His eyes were sparkly orbs of iridescent green: bright and mysterious at the same time. A kind traveler informed me you offer rooms to rent.

Abigail’s eyes grew wider, and she raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She slid her other hand into her apron pocket, feeling the crumpled edges of the last letter from Nathan clinging to his memory. Nathan, she whispered through pursed lips. The Confederate jasmine entwining the fence came alive, rustling and swaying, as a strong breeze swept through. Abigail placed her hand on her bonnet to keep it in place as the breeze ruffled the ribbon.

The stranger smiled and bowed with a flourish and a twist of his bowler hat. Where are my manners? The name is John Dalton, at your service.

Abigail lowered her eyes demurely and curtsied. It is a pleasure, Mr. Dalton. I am Abigail Turnor. She looked into his sparkling eyes and smiled. Please come in. She showed him to the gate and called out, Tom, would you take Mr. Dalton’s mount and attend to its needs.

Tom took the reins from John. He removed the personal gear and led the horse to the barn.

This way, Mr. Dalton, if you please. Abigail led John Dalton to the house and introduced him to her mother and Essie. Mother, Essie, this is Mr. John Dalton. He will be staying with us.

The rocking chair moved quicker. Elizabeth remained silent. She focused her gaze on John Dalton and felt a flutter in her stomach.

John removed his bowler hat. I am honored to make your acquaintance, ma’am, he said with a slight bow. I am truly grateful for the opportunity to be a guest in your home.

Yankee, Elizabeth murmured.

Essie stepped forward and gently touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. Essie glared at the man. How long will Mr. Dalton be staying with us?

Abigail fiddled with the ribbon on her bonnet. She looked expectantly at John.

He coughed slightly, stood up straight, and pushed back his coat to reveal a gold pocket watch. He took it out and fiddled with it as if it would give him answers. I can’t say for sure. It could be a day or a week or a month. It would depend...

Carpetbagger, Elizabeth hissed under her breath. Her eyes were fixed on the worn bag in his hand. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The Civil War had ended, the South was in ruins both politically and economically. Southerners held a burning hatred towards Northerners, dubbing them carpetbaggers for the suitcases they carried made from old carpets.

She shrieked and sprang out of the rocker toward John.

Startled, Abigail stepped back, her heart racing. She nearly lost her balance on the porch and fell down the stairs. John reached out and grasped her elbow, providing support. He extended his other hand to keep Elizabeth at a safe distance. She stumbled toward him, her strength waning, until she finally succumbed to exhaustion and crumpled onto the porch, her black mourning gown billowing around her like a shroud.

Henry! Essie screamed as she rushed forward to help Elizabeth. Take your hand off that child! Essie snarled. She bent down to attend to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s voice trembled with fury. Those are my William’s watch and boots, Yankee grave robber! Her hands fumbled through the layers of black crinoline skirt in her attempt to get up. Do you doubt my ability to recognize the watch and boots I presented to my husband before he went off to defend the South?

Now, now, Missus Elizabeth, don’t you get yourself all upset, Essie crooned. She looked for her husband, who was loping across the field.

Where did you get them? Elizabeth pointed a finger at John Dalton.

He maintained a frosty glare and responded icily, Madam, I am sure I do not know what you are referring to. I bought these items from a gentleman in Georgia.

Elizabeth's piercing scream filled the air before she succumbed to a dizzy spell and collapsed. Henry leaped up the steps to the porch, the wooden planks creaking beneath his weight. He scooped Elizabeth up in his strong muscular arms. A gentle breeze rustled through the air, softly carrying a piece of paper until it gracefully settled on the porch.

Essie shepherded Henry into the house. He carried Elizabeth carefully, as if she were a porcelain doll. Essie looked back and saw how pale Abigail was and that John Dalton was still touching her arm. She prayed Abigail did not swoon as well.

Mother. Abigail’s voice quivered as she steadied herself and forcefully pushed away from John. She approached the spot where her mother had lain on the porch and gently picked up the letter that had fallen from her grasp. The sight of it brought tears to her eyes. She choked back tears, her throat tightening with the effort. The letter, penned by a cherished friend of her father, arrived through dispatch. It was her father’s death notification. It stated that during the Battle of Chickamauga, he had fought with unwavering courage and determination. He made the ultimate sacrifice in the fight for the cause. She held it close to her chest, finding solace in the memories it evoked. Since the letter’s arrival, her mother had clutched it tightly, her fingers unwilling to release their grip, as if it would summon her husband back.

John Dalton approached her from behind. He stood a little too close for polite society. He whispered, Are you all right, Miss Abigail?

Abigail spun on him, dropping her hand so he could not read the letter. Sir, do they not teach manners in the North? She stepped back, glaring at him. Mr. Dalton, the cost of the room is two dollars a week, which includes meals, and a dollar additional to stable your horse, payable in advance. She thrust out her hand.

Is that Confederate or Union currency? he remarked with a sneer.

Abigail placed her hands resolutely on her hips, her narrowed eyes fixed on the stranger. And what part of the North are you from where manners are optional, Mr. Dalton? She stood tapping her foot as he reached into his waistcoat and counted out six half-dollar coins.

He gave her the coins with a grin on his face. New York City.

Abigail snatched them from his hand, spun on her heel, and entered the house. She removed her bonnet and placed it on a hook by the door and met his gaze head-on. I suggest, Mr. Dalton, you practice proper etiquette while residing in this house.

John chuckled, removed his hat, and followed Abigail inside.

Abigail frowned until she saw Essie and Henry positioned on the staircase. She spun with a swish of calico. Pardon my manners, Mr. Dalton. Let me show you the house and to your room. She paused and half turned. Mother suffers from melancholia. I suggest you keep your distance so as not to upset her, Mr. Dalton.

Of course. He grinned as he followed Abigail down a narrow hallway.

This is the parlor where we entertain in the evening. She pointed to a door to the left. This is the dining room. She indicated a room on the right. The kitchen is at the opposite end of the hall. Your room is upstairs, the last door on the right.

As Essie and Henry came down the stairs, Abigail turned and gave him a thorough once-over. If you wish for Essie to wash your clothes, it is five cents. She glanced at Essie, who nodded back. Should you desire a bath, we have a tub. Henry can draw water from the well, otherwise there is a washbasin in your room. If you want hot water, Essie can heat it up. The cost is five cents.

John bowed and smiled. Thank you for your graciousness, Miss Abigail. I think I can find my way to my room. He pulled out coins from his waistcoat and placed them in Abigail’s hand. A bath and clean clothes sound delightful. He bowed and walked up the stairs.

Henry kept his head down and left, the sound of running water filling the room as he filled the bathtub. Essie placed her hands firmly on her hips and narrowed her eyes, fixing her gaze on Abigail. Child, what were you thinking, letting that man stay in this house, especially knowing your mama’s condition? That man is evil, nothing but pure evil. I can see it in his eyes. He’s up to no good.

Abigail sighed deeply. Essie, she implored, with father gone, we mustn’t overlook any chance to make money.

Essie turned to go back up the stairs to get his clothes. She wagged a finger at Abigail. Mark my words, child, nothing good will come of that man staying in this house. With her hand on the banister, Essie paused for a moment. Miss Abigail, you listen to me. That man ain’t no good. I can feel it in my bones. Even your mama can see that. She hauled herself up the stairs, muttering under her breath.

Abigail sighed, felt the letter in her pocket, and took it upstairs to her mother’s room. She set it on the dresser. She approached her mother, who lay in her bed, and kissed her on the forehead before heading downstairs to collect herbs from the garden for the evening meal.

Chapter 3

Day turned to night , days to weeks, and still no word from Nathan. William’s remains were delivered by military caisson, the sound of hooves echoing through the air. He was buried in the family plot, beneath the sheltering branches of an ancient oak. Despite Essie’s best efforts and special tonic, Elizabeth sank deeper into melancholia.

Abigail stood from gathering herbs in the garden and shaded her eyes. She watched John Dalton mount his horse. He rode off toward the gate with a tip of his hat and a smile. Even from afar, Abigail could see the radiant glow of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes. Tentatively, she waved back. Heat tinged her cheeks. She ducked back down to collect herbs.

Essie stood behind the clothesline, her hands resting solidly on her hips as she watched with apprehension. Wherever he traveled, a menacing dark cloud loomed over John Dalton. Essie saw him for what he was. Through her innate ability, she could penetrate the external facade of human flesh and bones, perceiving him as the very essence of the devil. He had appeared on their doorstep during their time of deepest vulnerability, when they were grieving the loss of their loved ones. His presence meant nothing but soul-stealing and utter destruction for them. Essie was determined to protect her family. She glanced briefly over at Elizabeth, who was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. Essie frowned and released a heavy breath. The moment had arrived for her to take action. Her family had endured enough pain and suffering.

Essie made her way to the herb garden and firmly grasped Abigail’s arm. Miss Abigail, you pay that man no mind. She held onto her arm and guided her to the shade of an oak tree, sat her down, clucking like a mother hen. Miss Abigail, I know you missing your Nathan, but, child, I don’t think he ever comin’ back. But that Yankee ain’t no replacement for him. So you just get your mind off him.

Abigail put her head down.

Abigail, listen to me. Your mama needs you to be strong now.

Abigail looked up toward the porch.

I’m going to teach you something my mama taught me and I taught your poor mother.

Abigail inclined her head and listened.

Now child, we got the ways of the woods, the air, and the water. I’m going to teach you how to take all these flowers and plants growing around you and use them to protect yourself and those around you.

Abigail nodded, and as their eyes met, they exchanged a silent understanding. She clasped Essie’s hand tightly. They walked toward the small cabin, hidden amid the lush trees, where Essie lived with her husband, Henry, and their son, Tom.

Chapter 4

The scorching muggy days of summer were suffocating. Elizabeth sat in her rocker, sinking deeper into melancholia. Essie fanned her with a large palm frond. Now Missus Elizabeth, it’s time you removed that mourning gown and put on a summer frock. It is just too hot for you to be wearing that heavy black dress. She continued to fan her and placed a drink filled with her special herbs. Now you drink this, Missus Elizabeth. It’ll make you feel better.

Essie held the glass to the woman’s dry, chapped lips. She gently poured the amber liquid into her mouth, which dribbled down her chin onto her dress. Essie wiped it with a rag and looked up when she heard laughter. She squinted her eyes in the bright sunlight, looking for the source of the sound. The summer sun’s brightness intensified the scorching heat of the season. Through the blinding light, the source became apparent. Dear naïve Abigail staring at John Dalton with that telltale twinkle in her eye. Dread seized her and she dropped the glass, wincing as it shattered into pieces on the porch. Brown liquid dripped through the kinks in the floorboard. Elizabeth jerked her head.

Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting long shadows beneath the trees. Abigail gathered an assortment of roots and herbs, which she placed in a wicker basket. Beside her, John Dalton picked a posy and placed it in her hair beneath her straw bonnet. Essie had a bad feeling about John as soon as he arrived, but Abigail was oblivious. If Abigail wasn’t careful, he would steal her heart or worse, her soul, and Essie would not let that happen.

Now, Mr. Dalton, modesty begs you to request an escort in my presence. She giggled and looked into his iridescent green eyes. A stray lock of his golden-brown hair had fallen on his face. She quickly lowered her eyes.

He offered his hand and took the heavy woven basket from her. He smiled. Miss Abigail, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. He gently stroked her cheek.

Her cheeks flushed. She pulled away and stumbled. Mr. Dalton!

He reached out a hand to steady her. She flinched ever so slightly.

Miss Abigail, I am accustomed to speaking plainly and know little of the niceties of etiquette. Do not think the worse of me for opening my heart to you so abruptly, with no preliminary flourishes. There cannot be anything offensive, I hope, in the candid declaration that I love you. If you will give me the opportunity, I will endeavor to prove my affection by devoting my whole life to your happiness. I should regard the pleasure of calling you my wife as the greatest gift that earth could afford.

She gasped, and her hand quickly went to her breast. Mr. Dalton, the impropriety! I am betrothed to Mr. Nathan Davis!

Yet he has not returned from battle. He spoke softly. If he should not return, I will take your hand in marriage.

Abigail hastily raised her hand toward her mouth. She stared wide-eyed into the radiance of his sparkling green eyes. She stepped backward and fell into a patch of clover with a thump.

Abigail, my beloved. He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet. My love for you goes beyond any other love I have known. You are so good, kind, and dedicated. I desire to make you my wife and our home to be filled with the laughter of children.

Before she could speak, Essie pushed them apart. Mr. Dalton, keep your hands off Miss Abigail. She glared at John Dalton. "And you, Miss