After the shadows, p.1
After the Shadows, page 1
After the Shadows
“If you love stories with interesting historical backgrounds, convincing characters, and compelling plots, Amanda Cabot’s After the Shadows is a book you won’t want to miss. From the first page when you ride into Sweetwater Crossing with Cabot’s characters, you will happily flip pages to follow along their story road in the Texas Hill Country to the satisfying final scene.”
Ann H. Gabhart, bestselling author of When the Meadow Blooms
Praise for Out of the Embers
“Welcome to Mesquite Springs, Texas—a hotbed of drama, danger, and romance . . . and heroine Evelyn Radcliffe lands right in the middle of it all thanks to a series of mishaps. Good thing hero Wyatt Clark looks out for her. With characters that will steal your heart (especially little orphan Polly), Out of the Embers is sure to earn a spot on your keeper shelf. A must-read for historical romance fans.”
Michelle Griep, Christy Award–winning author of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series
“Out of the Embers is part prairie romance, part romantic suspense. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a book more. Amanda Cabot has written an intriguing, chilling mystery, and she winds it through the pages of a sweet romance in a way that made me keep turning the pages fast to see what was going to happen next. An absolutely excellent read. And now I’m hungry for oatmeal pecan pie!”
Mary Connealy, author of Aiming for Love, book 1 in the Brides of Hope Mountain series
Praise for Dreams Rekindled
“Readers will enjoy the easy pace of this series addition while waiting for the grand finale, and what a finale it turns out to be!”
Interviews & Reviews
“Amanda Cabot’s new novel, Dreams Rekindled, is a wonderfully entertaining and inherently absorbing read from cover to cover.”
Midwest Book Reviews
“A compelling tale for inspirational and romantic suspense fans.”
Booklist
Books by Amanda Cabot
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
MESQUITE SPRINGS SERIES
Out of the Embers
Dreams Rekindled
The Spark of Love
TEXAS DREAMS SERIES
Paper Roses
Scattered Petals
Tomorrow’s Garden
WESTWARD WINDS SERIES
Summer of Promise
Waiting for Spring
With Autumn’s Return
CIMARRON CREEK TRILOGY
A Stolen Heart
A Borrowed Dream
A Tender Hope
Christmas Roses
One Little Word: A Sincerely Yours Novella
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
TEXAS CROSSROADS SERIES
At Bluebonnet Lake
In Firefly Valley
On Lone Star Trail
© 2023 by Amanda Cabot
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3970-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version (KJV).
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
For Peggy Jo Wells, whose love of the Lord shines through everything she says and does
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Books by Amanda Cabot
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Map of Sweetwater Crossing, TX
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Author’s Letter
Turn the page to return to Sweetwater Crossings
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Chapter
One
AUGUST 19, 1882
Everything looked the same. The live oaks in the park still shadowed this block of Main Street, providing a welcome respite from the early afternoon sun. In the schoolyard, two boys vied to see who could swing higher, while another scuffed his feet, impatiently waiting for his turn. Beulah Douglas raced down the street, her single blond braid flapping against her back. It wasn’t the first time Emily had seen the twelve-year-old hurrying, but today she was moving faster than Emily remembered, probably because she’d spent more time than usual with Father’s horse and knew her parents would be looking for her. Other than Beulah’s uncharacteristic speed, nothing appeared to have changed, but Emily Leland knew otherwise. Everything had changed. Or perhaps only she had changed.
She guided her horse onto Center Street, trying not to frown at the memories the sight of the small church sent rushing through her. All those Sundays sitting sandwiched between her two younger sisters in what everyone called the preacher’s pew, not daring to fidget even when Father’s sermon lasted for what seemed like hours. The Christmas and Easter services when well-meaning parishioners pinched her cheeks and told her mother that even though Emily was shorter than her sisters and might not be as talented, she was the prettiest of the Vaughn girls, that her blond hair and blue eyes made her look like an angel.
She was no angel, but she’d been a happy girl. And when she’d left Sweetwater Crossing, she’d been a bride smiling at her groom and dreaming of the life they’d share. Now . . . Emily adjusted the sleeves of the black dress she’d found in the attic and had hastily altered to fit, ensuring that neither the sun nor prying eyes would see her skin.
Mama had insisted that the hallmark of a lady was her lily-white complexion. Mama had said . . . Emily bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry. After all, tears solved nothing. If there was anything she’d learned in the last year, it was that.
She kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead as she approached the corner of Creek, refusing to look at the cemetery. The wrought-iron gates would be open; the cypress trees had probably grown an inch or two, and somewhere within the fenced area was a new grave. Since it was too soon for grass to have covered it, it would be what Mama called a raw grave. The grave wasn’t the only thing that was raw. So too was Emily. This was far from the homecoming she’d dreamt of.
“We’re here.” There was no need to tell the horse, for Blanche’s ears had perked and she’d tossed her head in apparent delight as they’d approached town. While Emily dreaded what faced her, Blanche was happy to have returned. For her, the barn behind the house that still looked out of place in this small Hill Country town was home. Blanche was probably anticipating a reunion with Father’s horse, never questioning her welcome, while Emily wondered what awaited her within the stone mansion.
She looped the reins over the hitching post on the side of the house, then returned to the front. Fourteen months ago, she would have entered through the closest door, but today she felt the need to climb the front steps as if she were a visitor. For she was. She wouldn’t knock on the door, but she also would not use the entrance that had been reserved for family. The harsh tone of her sister’s letter after all those months of silence had made her cautious.
As she stepped inside, Emily took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scents of floor polish mingling with the lavender of Mama’s sachets. The house was blessedly cool compared to the summer sun, the silence normal for a Saturday afternoon when everyone spoke in hushed voices lest they disturb Father while he was writing his sermon. Only parishioners were allowed to interrupt him, and the majority knew his schedule well enough to time their visits for the morning.
It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon, or as ordinary as one could be without the woman who’d turned this house into a home. For a moment, Emily let herself believe that everything would be fine. Then, mustering her courage, she called out, “Father! Joanna! Louisa! I’m here.” By some small miracle, her voice did not tremble, nor did it reveal the grief that threatened to ove rwhelm her.
There was no sound from the library that had been Father’s office for as long as she could recall, but Emily’s youngest sister emerged from the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, a frown on her normally smiling face.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Louisa’s voice radiated anger, sorrow, and something that might have been fear.
Emily had been wrong in thinking she was the only one who’d changed. So too had her sister.
“I left as soon as I received your letter.” The letter whose tone had worried her as much as its content. Though Emily wanted nothing more than to gather her sister into her arms, hoping that a warm embrace would lessen their grief, Louisa’s forbidding expression stopped her. If she wanted comfort, Louisa would have to take the first step. As it was, she stood there stiffly, her hands clenched into fists, and shook her head, loosening a strand of medium-brown hair from her chignon.
Four inches taller and with more curves than Emily, Emily’s half sister shared only one characteristic with her: deep-blue eyes, a legacy from their mother. Right now, those eyes were as angry as her voice.
Trying to calm her thoughts, Emily glanced around the spacious foyer whose twin staircases mirrored those of the house’s exterior. Mama had once confessed that she found it all a bit ostentatious, but Father would not consider leaving the home he’d promised his closest friend he’d care for, especially when he realized Clive would never return.
“We owe it to Clive,” he’d told Mama. She’d nodded, her resignation apparent.
But Mama would nod no more.
The enormity of the situation hit Emily with more force than she’d thought possible, turning her legs to jelly.
“I can’t believe it’s true,” she said, her voice no longer steady. “Father always said he’d be the first to go.”
“But he wasn’t. Father’s lost without her,” Louisa continued as she led Emily into the parlor. In the past, they might have sat in the kitchen, sipping cups of coffee as they talked. Today, however, Louisa appeared to want more formality. She perched on the edge of one of the least comfortable chairs in the room and gestured toward the one facing it, telling Emily this would be a confrontation, not two sisters comforting each other.
“He walks around in a daze, and when he leaves, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going.” Louisa glanced through the open doorway into the hall. “He had lunch with me, but he must have gone out again. It’s awful, Emily, awful. He won’t even sleep in the room they shared.” She closed her eyes, clearly attempting to control her emotions. “It’s been horrible trying to be strong for him.” And that was a role Louisa, as the youngest, had never needed to assume. Perhaps that was part of the reason for her uncharacteristic coldness.
“Where’s Joanna?” Though their sister had sometimes seemed capricious, declaring nothing was as important as playing the piano, she’d also helped Mama keep the house spotless. The layer of dust on the spinet made Emily wonder whether Joanna’s grief was so deep that she, like Father, was in a daze.
Louisa’s eyes flew open, sorrow replaced by anger. “As if you care!”
Emily cared. Oh, how she cared. She’d written letters to the family every week, asking about each of them, hoping their lives were happier than hers, but there’d been no response.
“Joanna’s in Europe with her grandmother. They left a couple months ago and are supposed to be gone for a year, maybe longer.” Louisa’s voice was harsh. “Her dreams are coming true, just like yours did. You got a handsome husband; Joanna’s studying music with a master, and I’m stuck here alone.” Louisa glared at Emily. “You should have been here. Mama asked for you at the end, even though she knew you wouldn’t come.”
The words ricocheted through the room before piercing Emily’s heart. “Why would she think that?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. That letter George wrote for you was very clear. You may have scalded your hand, but that didn’t stop you from telling us you were a Leland now and didn’t need any of us Vaughns, so we shouldn’t bother writing to you or coming for a visit.”
Emily bit down the bile that threatened to erupt at the evidence of George’s cruelty. She’d known something was wrong when she’d found Louisa’s letter in his pocket—“I’m not sure you’ll care,” her sister had written, “but I thought you should know that our mother died”—but she hadn’t realized the extent of her husband’s depravity.
“Mama couldn’t believe you’d written that letter,” Louisa continued. “She said she was going to visit you, no matter what you’d said, but Father told her you needed time to adjust to being a wife. He was convinced you’d change your mind, but when three months went by and you didn’t answer any of our letters, even he gave up.”
No wonder Emily had received no response to the letters she’d written. In all likelihood, George hadn’t mailed them any more than he’d given her the ones her family had sent. It was probably only chance that he hadn’t destroyed Louisa’s last letter. Or maybe he’d meant to torment Emily with it, promising she could visit her family once she gave him what he wanted. She’d never know.
“Mama was devastated,” Louisa continued, “and Father looked like he’d been bludgeoned. You know he always tried his best not to treat you differently from his real daughters.”
Emily winced. She was the offspring of Mama’s first marriage, while Joanna was Father’s daughter from an earlier marriage. Only Louisa had been raised in a home with both of her parents. Even though Joseph Vaughn was the only father Emily remembered, for as long as she could recall she’d known he wasn’t the man who’d sired her. Most days it hadn’t mattered, but when one of the girls was angry and wanted to hurt her sisters, parentage was a convenient weapon.
“It was bad enough that you didn’t answer Mama’s letters, but I never thought you’d ignore the one I sent you, telling you she was failing and wanted to see you.”
Ignoring Emily’s gasp, Louisa continued. “How could youleave me to do everything by myself? When we were girls, you promised you’d always be there for me, but when I needed you most, you stayed on your ranch with your husband. I’ll never forgive you for that.”
No wonder Louisa was so angry. She believed Emily had willingly abandoned her. And that, like sending a hateful letter, was something Emily wouldn’t do.
“I never received your letters.”
Louisa scoffed. “You can say that, but I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Louisa, because it’s the truth. I didn’t write that awful letter, and the only one I received from you was the one announcing Mama’s death.”
Her sister’s eyes flashed with disdain. “A likely story and one you can’t prove, especially since you admit you received the last one. As for the one you sent us, I know you didn’t write it. George wrote that letter, but you dictated it.”
Emily hadn’t. She would never have written, dictated, or had any part in something like that, for it was as far from the truth as east was from west. Surely her family knew that. But it appeared that whatever George had written had convinced them that Emily no longer wanted to be part of the family.
Knowing she had only one defense that Louisa would accept, she held out her hands, turning them so her sister could see both sides. “Look. There are no scars. I never scalded my hand.”
Though Louisa studied Emily’s hands, she still appeared dubious. “You must have said those things. Why else would George have written them?”
Because he wanted me totally dependent on him. Even though it might exonerate her, Emily wouldn’t say that. When she’d left the ranch that had been her home for over a year, she had vowed that no one would know the truth of her marriage. Some things were too horrible to put into words. Besides, she didn’t want pity or even sympathy. All she wanted was to forget.
Louisa raised her head and met Emily’s gaze. “Where is George? I’m surprised he’d let you travel alone.”
He wouldn’t have. He hadn’t even let Emily go into town unless he accompanied her, and by telling everyone she had delicate nerves and was easily disturbed by visitors, he’d ensured that the neighboring ranchers’ wives stayed away. Visits, he’d told her, would be her reward when she fulfilled her mission. But she hadn’t. Fortunately, George could no longer control her life.
