Down Fall

By Suzanne D. Williams

The humid air seemed to suck the life out of the conversation. He glanced at Aurelia. "If you need anything …" he said, his voice dropping.

 

Her lips quivered, and his thoughts scattered. What she needed she couldn't have. What she wanted was forbidden for them both.

 

Jacob Flynn lost his wife and son in childbirth and fled south to Florida to escape the memories. But in, Aurelia Cotton, the pregnant wife of a kind man who took him in, they come back to him. She's so very beautiful. Helplessly in love, he finds himself pressed closer and closer to the ultimate act of betrayal, when tragedy strikes. Yet the evil someone meant for selfish gain, just might be their one chance for forgiveness.

 

A tender historical romance of wrong love made right by best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne D. Williams
• Release date: Feb 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781524274351

Suzanne D. Williams

Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

Book preview

SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS

Feel-Good Romance

©2014 Down Fall by Suzanne D. Williams

www.feelgoodromance.com

www.suzannedwilliams.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for young or sensitive readers, but are framed by Christian morals and solutions.

CHAPTER 1

Georgia, 1871

Such was the way of life. Babies were born. Old folks died. Supposed to be like that, at least. But his Cadence dying was all wrong ’cause she took the baby with her and left him with nothing. Empty hands and an emptier heart.

Jacob Flynn stood over her grave, his wide-brimmed hat crunched in his hands, his hair glued to his scalp in a ring where it’d been. He struggled for a tear. Something. Anything. A pain to alleviate the dead feeling, the feeling he was alone and no one cared.

The preacher read some Psalm that whisked in one ear and out the other, intoned, The Lord giveth and the Lord taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord, and nodded at the boy with the shovel to begin his work.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Each shovelful pounded harder in Jacob’s brain. Each one digging him deeper into this dark, black feeling, a feeling he wished to drown with a bottle except he’d promised her. He’d promised Cadence never again.

She’d cleaned him up. Got him to church. Carried their baby. And died.

The sun beat hot on his head, forming drops of sweat on his brow and running down his neck to soak into his shirt. A shirt Cadence made him.

It all came back to that—to her and him. And it all ended in nothing.

A hand on his shoulder turned his head around. The somber face of the physician gazed back. Jacob nodded, unspeaking. He’d tried to save her. Tried and been too late.

Where will you go, son? he asked.

Jacob licked cracked, dry lips. South.

South to Florida to lose himself in a swamp somewhere and maybe never come out.

FLORIDA, 1873

Aurelia Cotton surveyed the failure of her husband’s hard work, one hand on the mound of her belly, her heart in her throat. What did they do now?

Lack of rain and blistering sun had withered what few seedlings managed to break through the parched dirt to crisp, brown leaves.

She toed the soil, and it lifted in a mist and floated away. They needed the harvest this year more than any other.

The heat pulled the life from her, sapping what little energy she’d built for the walk into the fields, and she inhaled a shaky breath. She must return, find a cool spot.

Turning her feet, she ambled down the dried rows through desiccated grass, the stalks catching her skirt and tugging her backward. Frustrated, she yanked and it floated upward, exposing her calves.

She caught the eye of the hired hand, Jacob, and her cheeks colored. She ducked her head.

This failure was equally bad for him because with no crops, they wouldn’t be able to pay, and that was wrong. No man should work for free.

She darted a glance backward once she’d passed where he stood and stared for a moment at the back of his blond head. He was a curious one, never speaking much. Yet he did his job well and was the most valuable hand they’d hired since moving here. She always had the sense he carried some pain with him though. Something he never let go of.

But that wasn’t her business.

Aurelia faced the house and continued on, at their tiny front porch sinking into an aged rocker, spindles creaking. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, conscious only of perspiration trickling down her neck and further on between her breasts. She longed to swipe at it, but didn’t for the effort that’d take.

The sweltering warmth sent her off to sleep. She awoke to the scrub of her husband’s beard on her tender skin.

He kissed her softly.

You look worn, he said.

She smiled and laid her palm on his cheek. It’s this weather. I feel as if I’m melting.

Come inside. He took her elbow and hauled her upright.

This next month cannot pass quick enough, she said. Between the heat and this child, I’m a lead weight. She seated herself at the table, resting an elbow on the worn wood.

I’ll pour you a drink, he said, and proceeded to fill a tin mug with water from a porcelain pitcher on the counter. Setting it before her, he sank into a chair placed opposite.

She sipped at the cool liquid, her gaze on the features of this man that she loved. With his square jaw and broad forehead, Matthew Cotton wasn’t the most attractive man in town, but he was by far the kindest. Not a person existed he wouldn’t strive to help. Whether it was farm work or house building, church work or cattle rounding, everyone knew if you asked he’d be there.

They knew if you were hard up or down on your luck at all, he was the person to visit. For instance, Jacob had shown up six months ago looking like skin and bones. Unwashed, unshaven, he’d been a sight. It wasn’t until he had good food in him and a chance to clean-up that they’d realized how young he was. Her age, give or take.

This turned her thoughts back to Matthew. Matthew was fifteen years her senior. Her dear friend Bessie had tried to dissuade her from marrying him saying, Why, he’s so ... old.

But age was relative in Aurelia’s thinking. It was more important a husband be faithful and kind, hardworking, and Matthew was all those things. He was a godly man as well, who loved Christ and believed in prayer.

What rambles through your pretty noggin, he said, scratching his neck.

She tilted her head. I was thinking what a good man you are.

He chuckled lightly. You’ve been alone too long, I think.

Well, you may be right about that. I look forward to the barn raising this weekend and a chance to chat with the ladies.

Only if you feel up to the travel, he said.

What I don’t feel up to is being cooped in here. She turned their troubles over in her brain and balled her hand into a fist in her lap. Matthew, what of the crops?

He exhaled, the sound long and harsh. I don’t know. I’ve spoken with Jacob about it, and he suggests we buy a few cattle.

Cattle? But that would mean more hands and we can’t pay what we have now. Plus, without rain there isn’t grass to feed them.

I mentioned that. He says we could keep them toward the swamp; there’s plenty green there. But I don’t know.

Aurelia bit her bottom lip, kneading the flesh between her teeth. Jacob seemed intelligent enough, but what did they really know of him? Very little.

And how would we sell them? she asked. They couldn’t possibly drive them to market.

We’d have to use a drover, which means losing a percentage, but still we’d make as much, if not more than we do with the crops, especially this year. But let’s not worry today. That is pointless.

Pointless today, perhaps. But a decision must be made soon because within one month, they’d have the baby to consider.

She gripped the table, the pointed edge cutting sharp into her palms, and pulled herself to her feet. I must find us something to eat. All this talk will not fill our bellies. Turning her back, she stepped to the stove. Give me twenty minutes then call Jacob.

Matthew grunted from behind her.

SETTING HIS HAT ON the fencepost, Jacob cupped his hands and splashed water from the trough on his baked skin. If Georgia was hot in the summer, Florida was hotter.

Absentminded, he dangled his fingers in the trough.

But it was better here with the Cottons than it had been during all the months he’d wandered around, displaced and unwelcome. At least here, he had a roof over his