Orson's Echoes

By Kay Springsteen

More than friends but not quite family. It’s complicated... and frustrating.

Natalie Carter divides her time between her biological mother and her adoptive parents. But it’s really her bio mom’s adopted brother-in-law who causes her frustration. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t even see her, and when he does, he treats her like a tag-along little sister.

Ricky McGee has enjoyed Natalie’s company since they met when she was only thirteen and he sixteen. Now she’s nearly seventeen and he’s feeling more than enjoyment in her presence. But their relationship is complicated, and she’s so young, and he can think of a hundred reasons why a romantic entanglement is a bad idea.

When Natalie wants to visit the old McGee homestead before she leaves from her Thanksgiving visit, she and Ricky end up in a spontaneous treasure hunt that might cost them their lives. But is it a treasure hunt gone wrong? Or a love hunt gone right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
• Release date: Nov 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940520513

Kay Springsteen

Kay Springsteen grew up in Michigan but transplanted to the south about 10 years ago and now resides in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia with her five small dogs. Two of her four children live nearby, a married son who has a daughter of his own, and one of her twins. The other twin lives just outside of USMC Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Her oldest daughter still resides in Michigan. When she's not writing, she is transcribing and editing medical reports. Besides being an avid reader, hobbies include photography, gardening, hiking and camping, and of course spending time with her terrific G-baby. She is a firm believer in happily ever after endings and believes there is one out there for everyone; it just may not be exactly what you expect or think you want.

Book preview

Orson’s Echoes

The Journals of Orson’s Folly

Kay Springsteen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 by Kay Springsteen



Dingbat Publishing

ORSON’S ECHOES

The Journals of Orson’s Folly, Book 1

Copyright © 2015 by Kay Springsteen

ISBN 978-1-940520-51-3

Published by Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

eBooks cannot be sold, shared, uploaded to Torrent sites, or given away because that’s an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the produce of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.

Books by Kay Springsteen

The Echoes of Orson’s Folly

The Echoes of Orson’s Folly (three-book boxed set)

Lifeline Echoes

Elusive Echoes

Abiding Echoes

Bootful of Echoes

The Journals of Orson’s Folly

Orson’s Echoes

with esKape Press

A Lot Like a Lady (with Kim Bowman)

Something Like a Lady (with Kim Bowman)

Teach Me Under the Mistletoe

The Toymaker

Watercolors in the Rain

Dedication

To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Thank you for always being there making all things easier through your strength.

Every once in a while you meet a friend who sticks with you for no apparent reason, takes a chance on you, offers words of encouragement, and is just so genuine, you know you’ve found someone special. This book is dedicated to such a friend in my life, Cheryl.

PROLOGUE

Autumn 1895

Clement stared at the cloud of dust in the distance. He could no longer distinguish the two riders from each other, but he waited until the cloud grew tiny and disappeared into the horizon. Even if his daughter and new son-in-law turned back before making it to the general store, he would still have time to carry out his task.

After a final glance around the clearing revealed nothing but the log house with the fieldstone chimney, Clement walked toward the cliff, angling off at the last second and heading for the hidden opening. He sucked in a breath to make himself as skinny as possible and held it as he inched along the tedious route behind the standing stones and into his secret cave. If he ate a healthy meal before attempting to slide into it, he’d never make it. As it was, the rough surface of the rocks grabbed at his shirt, and stone fragments shifted and fell with his passing. A sharp right turn and more squeezing, and he was there. He dropped to his knees and crawled inside. Darkness blanketed him and he felt his way forward. The knees of his trousers grew wet as he hit the puddles. After several feet he was able to stand, though he had to stoop a bit to avoid taking his head off with the low ceiling.

Four shuffling steps, then he dropped to his knees again and edged into a dark hole. The rock walls weren’t as narrow, which made traversing the passage a bit easier. At the fork in the tunnel, a point of light beckoned from the left, and he inched in that direction. Light exploded around him as he poked his head into the opening, then pulled himself through and stood.

Sheer rock walls rose straight up for fifty feet, flaring at the top and allowing light to reach the floor. Only if someone knew where to look would they be able to find his hidden room. And his secret.

He bent and scooped up the loaded revolver he kept hidden behind one of the chair-sized boulders scattered around the edges of the room. The green pine box with Wells Fargo & Co. stenciled on it in white against the far wall was closed. The box had seen better days for certain. But it hadn’t fallen apart, even when it had been lowered into the secret rock-walled room from above. The broken lock lay on the ground.

Clement’s blood pounded in his ears.

It had been dangling from the C-loop only two days before.

Pebbles shifted and fell as something scraped against the rock wall in the tunnel behind him. Clement whirled in time to see a head emerge from the hole in the wall, followed by a pair of broad shoulders. Stringy blond hair fell like a curtain about the newcomer’s face, but Clement knew who it was even before he whipped the hair back with a head shake.

The diffuse overhead light spilled over an ebony and ivory handle on the lethal six-shooter in the man’s holster. How had the devil managed to pass through the tight crevice, decked out in his dandy finery and with a gun strapped to his hip? Not that it mattered. The fact was he had. Clement let out a breath and concentrated on slowing his racing heart. He eased the hand holding his revolver behind his back some.

Clement. The man nodded a cool greeting. Flinty gray eyes shifted toward the box and narrowed. I wish you hadn’t found your way in here. His fingers inched toward the holster. Did you open the box?

Understanding dawned as Clement shook his head. Only one of them would make it out of the natural rock room alive.

In a flurry of movement, the unwanted visitor whipped his hand back and then up, bringing his six-shooter out of its holster.

An explosion echoed off the canyon walls as blue-white smoke carrying the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air.

Clement froze, waiting for the pain to register. The interloper gaped at him, eyes wide with utter shock. A crimson circle had blossomed on his chest and was growing. He fell to his knees and then slumped forward. And then he moved no more.

Did that mean…?

Clement dropped his revolver and patted his chest and gut. Nothing. No pain, no wetness. He hadn’t been shot. He looked at the dead man lying face-down in the dust.

Damn. He’d never be able to negotiate the body along the gap in the rocks. He rubbed his eyes.

I killed a man.

It didn’t seem to matter that Clement would surely have been killed had he not acted, and maybe even his lovely daughter Greta and her husband, as well. He’d taken a man’s life. Fine tremors began in his hands. His next breath stalled in his throat. His heart began a mad tha-thunk, tha-thunk against his ribs. Surely it would beat its way out if he couldn’t calm it. Searing pain radiated from his jaw to his shoulder. He must have strained something. He gasped as a squeezing sensation gripped his chest. His heart pounded harder but in a ragged rhythm.

Blackness edged his vision, narrowing it to a pinpoint. He grabbed for the stone walls and stumbled to the exit of his secret room. With the pain in his chest and jaw coming in waves, the journey through the rock seemed to take forever. The blue sky had clouded over by the time he made it to the five standing stones and squeezed out. But just being out of the rock room helped him breathe easier.

After a short rest, he staggered across the ground and through the shallow creek toward the cabin, drawing thin, uneven breaths. It seemed like he might die, and he could only pray it wouldn’t happen before he got into the cabin. Greta’s face floated into his mind, followed by regret that he wouldn’t see his daughter one last time. It hadn’t been easy raising her since her mother had succumbed to a fever when Greta was only ten. But she’d grown into a beautiful young lady and fallen in love with a fine man. Keagan was a hard-working man, and he had good sense, but most important, he loved Greta. He would take care of her.

A spasm of sharp pain gripped Clement as he stumbled onto the wooden porch. With one hand clutching his chest, he reached out with the other and grabbed the railing he’d fashioned out of pine boughs. Perhaps it was better if Greta didn’t see him, after all. She’d watched her mother die and hadn’t spoken for months.

Elsa.

If heaven existed, his Elsa was certainly there. He might have seen her again… but he’d killed a man.

Huge drops of rain fell with splats and landed with little puffs in the dry dirt. The pain in his chest subsided some, and Clement pushed off the railing. He had a mission to complete. He might be too late to save his life… or even his soul. But he could save his little girl. A solitary tear rolled down his cheek. She’d do the right thing where he’d been unable to.

His shuffling and bumping along the porch echoed through the clearing. After a few false starts, he staggered to the door and fell across the threshold.

His journal lay where it always did, on the fireplace mantel. The edges of a folded sheet of paper tucked into the front cover peeked from beneath the leather binding. His copy of the survey map he’d just completed with his neighbor.

Clement lurched across the wood plank floor that his daughter kept so clean. Sheer will got him to the leather-bound volume. He snatched it from its resting place, dragging his pen and inkwell along with it. Mercifully, they landed on the floor at his feet. He dropped down and sat against the stone fireplace. At first he fumbled with the pen but finally set it in his cramping hand and gripped it tightly while he slid the ink closer.

He wrote on the map first

Then he opened the journal, dipped his pen, and began to write.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

November, Thanksgiving Saturday

Ragged gray clouds sailed across the dark sky, shredded by the prevailing winds and revealing a nearly full moon to light the way to the stables.

Careful, whispered Ricky McGee, taking Natalie Carter’s hand and leading her across the uneven ground. The advantage of familiarity was his, since he walked the ground in the dark every morning on the way to carry out his daily chores before getting on the computer for his Internet classes at Wyoming University.

But it wasn’t chores that found him sneaking from the house. For the first time since he’d moved in and been adopted by Justin McGee, he was going to ditch the chores in favor of a trail ride.

Do you think anyone heard us leave? asked Nattie. She slowed up a bit and glanced over her shoulder. I thought I heard someone moving upstairs when I was getting my jacket on.

If anyone heard, they’ll just think I’m getting an early start on dropping hay. As he spoke, puffs of white clung on the chilly air for a moment before the pre-dawn breeze whisked them away. He picked up the pace again. Did you remember your thermal underwear?

Ricky! She slapped at his shoulder with her free hand.

It’s a simple question, he grumbled. It’s not going to get much warmer today, and I don’t want to watch you freeze to death out there.

You wanna check? She giggled. Yes, I have on my long underwear. And a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater, and my heaviest jeans, and a pair of thermal socks, and my coat…

They burst into the stable yard and found themselves awash in the orange glow of a sodium vapor lamp. Ricky blinked the dazzle away and took his key to the lock on the main stable door. It scraped and squealed along the track, and they stepped inside. Natalie found the light as Ricky closed the door behind them.

From somewhere near the back, a horse whickered a hopeful greeting. Ricky almost felt bad about disturbing them in the wee hours of such a chilly morning. But it was only an hour or so early for feeding, so he tended the horses they’d be taking first, then set about feeding the others. After he