Salena: Blackbird Trilogy 3

By Elaine Robinson

Salena Mahoney’s parents shipped her from Wales to America in an arranged marriage with a family friend, Enoch MacRae, when she was 16 years-old and pregnant. The father of Salena’s child was left in Wales to wonder where she disappeared to, and why.

In time she came to admire and respect the man she married, but ten years later her husband is killed in a farming accident. Salena writes a letter to the father of her 10-year old son, asking for his help with her large farm, and the son he never knew he had. 

Thomas Stamford sells everything he has and comes to America, but by the time he arrives, another man has also come to help Salena with her two young sons and the farm.

Two men, one farm, and a woman torn between them, brings drama and heartache. Salena must choose which man is to stay, and which man must leave. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Nov 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781681464794

Elaine Robinson

Elaine Robinson’s roots are deeply rooted in the East Texas farm where she and her brother were born and raised on their grandparents’ farm. She now lives with her husband of 62 years in Baton Rouge, LA. Caring for her WWII veteran husband leaves little time for writing, but when time permits, she puts to paper those stories her grandmother Maggie told of times long ago when the old ones in Welsh villages believed the appearance of the black bird called the Jackdaw was a messenger of good and bad things to come.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Salena MacRae slipped the wedding band from her finger and placed it inside her husband’s coffin. I loved you as best I could, she said, before touching her fingers to her lips and then to his lips. You promised to love, honor and take care of me; you kept your promise. I promised to honor and obey. I did love you, Enoch, but not in the way you deserved to be loved. She blinked away tears, then told her two young boys to come say goodbye to their father.

Ten–year-old Matthew and six-year-old Jacob stepped forward. Both boys struggled to hold back tears as one and then the other touched their father’s hand. Matthew held his tears but Jacob began to sob. Salena put an arm about the boy, took a last look at her husband’s body, and then closed the lid of the coffin. You may proceed with the burial, she said, nodding to the two men standing by.

There were no other mourners at the burial; Salena wanted it that way. It had been hard enough at the church services where friends and neighbors had gathered to express their sympathy and pay respect to her husband. Salena knew the burial process would be harder for the boys and she wanted to spare them as much pain as possible.

Let’s go, boys, she said. Poppa is resting now and we have things to do.

Salena took the boys’ hands, and they walked down the hill toward the big house that Enoch had built for her. There were so many things needing her immediate attention—the harvesting of the corn had to be done and the fencing around the back pasture was in sad need of repair. Then there was all that brush in the clearing where Enoch was killed that needed to be piled and burned. Salena trembled at the remembrance of the accident that killed her husband while he fell trees for more farm land.

She pushed the painful memory from her mind and hurried toward the farmhouse. As she and the boys neared the back entrance of the house, they saw a man standing under the big oak tree growing near the springhouse. When they were near enough to recognize him, her son Matthew ran to greet him. Uncle Gene, the boy cried. It’s Uncle Gene!

Eugene Westmore had been her husband’s oldest and best friend. The two men both came to New London to claim free land offered for homesteading. Gene’s wife, Evelyn, had helped deliver Salena’s son, Matthew. She had wondered why Gene wasn’t at her husband’s funeral service. She sent him word of Enoch’s death. The man now lived and worked on a horse farm in the neighboring town of Meadville.

As the man walked to meet her, Salena saw the grief on the man’s face and the tears glistening in his eyes. I’m so very sorry, Salena, he said as he embraced her warmly. I just couldn’t bring myself to attend the church services.

I understand, Gene.

I hope you understand why I watched the burial from here.

Salena understood. Gene’s wife and infant daughter were also buried in the small hillside cemetery where she’d had Enoch laid to rest. Five years had passed since the deaths of Gene’s wife and infant daughter. In all that time, he had not revisited their graves—not even once. And, so deep was his grief that he’d abandoned his homestead to Enoch and left the settlement to work on the horse farm in Meadville, Maryland. He did, however, come often to visit or help Enoch with a farming project.

Now, as Gene walked with Salena and the boys to the farmhouse, he told her that he would stay and give her a hand with the farm. Salena breathed a sigh of relief; she welcomed the man’s offer to help. Half the land is yours anyway, Gene, she told him. Your home is just as you left it, and there’s plenty of work to be done on both homesteads. Lord knows I can use the help.

I went by my place on the way here. You and Enoch have taken good care of it.

Enoch always hoped you’d change your mind, come back and work the land.

I ain’t ready to do that, Salena. There are too many memories in that house. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay in the quarters above the barn.

Gene was speaking of the living quarters that she and Enoch had lived in until the farmhouse was built. At the time they needed the barn more than a farmhouse. So, Enoch made a comfortable living quarters on the second floor of the big barn. She smiled and told Gene he was welcome to stay there if that was what he wanted.

Then it’s a deal, Gene said before scooping a boy in each arm and striding toward the house. I hope you have something good to eat on the stove. I’m hungry for a good meal.

Salena told him there was plenty of food. The neighbors saw to it that we had food, Gene. We have pies, cakes, ham, and vegetables. All I have to do is warm something up.

* * * *

A week passed. It was seven hard days, but having Gene to help with the farm and the chores was a godsend. He even found a man to help clear the acreage that Enoch had been clearing when he was killed. Salena was glad her help was not needed clearing the brush; she couldn’t bring herself to visit the area—not yet.

Gene had taken charge of managing the farm. He knew what needed to be done and how to go about getting the work done. Salena hoped he would stay at least until the corn crop was harvested and the grain stored in the big, new red barn.

Having Gene help manage the farm was good for Matthew and Jacob, too. They loved having him with them. They missed their father and Gene did those things that Enoch had always done with them. Salena hated to admit it, but she couldn’t imagine what she would do if Gene decided it was time to return to his job at the horse farm in Meadville.

The MacRae farm was one of the largest farms in the settlement. It had taken both she and Enoch to manage it. Salena knew it would be impossible for her to manage alone. The household chores and caring for the boys demanded most of her attention.

Another thing that worried Salena was the loan Enoch had taken out to build the red barn. They had counted on money from the sale of a good corn harvest to make the first mortgage payment. It looked to be a good corn crop and money from the harvest should be enough to meet the first payment if they got the corn harvested and sold before the first of the month. Enoch had pledged the farm as acceptable security for the loan.

The possibility of losing the farm brought a frown to Salena’s face. There was no way she was going to lose the farm. If the corn crop didn’t produce enough grain to make the payment, she would think of another way to make it. She and Enoch had put too much time and too many hours of hard work establishing the farm to lose it now.

Salena hugged the green ledger to her breast as she sat at the kitchen table. In the ledger she had penciled detailed accounts of every purchase, every sale, and each bartered piece of farm equipment that Enoch procured from the general store in the village. Enoch had laughed when she fussed that he overspent. He always said he would find a way to do what had to be done and pay for whatever was needed.

I hope you were right, Enoch, she muttered, or else I have to come up with a way to pay for all the equipment and the loan note. She put the ledger away and sat again at the table. Gene and the boys would be home soon from their fishing trip down by the Big Muddy. That was the name Enoch and the boys called the creek that ran below the north acreage.

After a time Salena walked to the front porch. She stood at the railing and looked toward the lush green foliage that covered the foothills beyond the corn field. This was her favorite time of day. The sun was racing toward the western horizon and the air was sweet and warm. She swallowed to keep the sorrow of her husband’s death at bay. Enoch was gone; there was no bringing him back.

As Salena watched the sun’s crimson glow sink slowly behind the hills, she was reminded of her home back in the Rhymmy Valley of Northern Wales. She often thought about her homeland and wondered if her parents regretted shipping her to America to be Enoch MacRae’s bonded wife. She missed Wales, and she often thought about the man she was forced to leave back in Wales. But as the years went by, she came to terms with the knowledge that this settlement outside New London, Connecticut, was now her home. Enoch MacRae had married her even though she was pregnant with another man’s child. He’d never questioned who the man back in Wales was. Matthew isn’t your son, Salena, Enoch had said. Matthew is our son.

Salena wondered if Thomas Stamford ever married. Thomas was her first love. Even at the tender age of sixteen, she knew what the two had felt was love. Their parents didn’t agree, and when she told her father that she and Thomas planned to be married, he was so angry he shipped her to America to be the wife of a family friend.

Enough, Salena Mahoney MacRae! she declared, and turned her attention to birds circling overhead. Find your safe haven for the night, she muttered when the birds disappeared into the canopy of trees behind the big barn. Like those birds, the farm had been her safe haven ever since she’d married Enoch."

A soft breeze fanned the leaves of the tree standing guard at the corner of the porch. The whispered sound of the wind was comforting. Salena listened for a time, then she said a prayer to that unseen presence that hears all prayers. Give me a sign; help me find a way to keep this farm.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere Salena heard the shrill sound of the blackbird that she called the jackdaw. The shrill sound pierced the quiet solitude and floated on the wind circling the farmhouse. Salena searched the shadows for the bird. Its shrill cry split the silence again, before it swept low across the farmyard, screeching and flapping its wings.

I see you, Salena murmured. The old ones back in the Rhymmy Valley believed you to be a messenger of evil spirits. I don’t hold with that. The bird circled the house, then flew toward the cemetery where her husband was buried.

Thoughts of her home back in Wales and the appearance of the blackbird brought to mind again the man she had tried for more than ten years to put out of her mind—Thomas Stamford. It was hard to forget Thomas. Every time she looked at Matthew she was reminded of him. The boy had Thomas’ dark hair and gray eyes. Even his features were reminiscent of the young man back in Wales.

Enoch is gone, Salena muttered. Maybe the jackdaw’s appearance is a sign, she thought. Maybe it is time to tell Thomas he has a son. He just might choose to relocate to America in order to get acquainted with Mathew. She hurried back inside the house. She wanted to write a letter—a letter to Thomas Stamford.

* * * *

Weeks passed. The corn was harvested and sold for enough money to meet the bank note. There was even a small amount left over. Gene, and the man he hired to help with the farm chores, finished clearing the acreage that her husband had been working on when he was killed. The men cut the timber and pulled the stumps.

Salena pushed the bad memories of Enoch’s accident from her head and helped with the clearing. She and the boys piled the brush and burned it. The work was hard, but it had to be done. Without Gene’s help, she wouldn’t have been able to get it done.

Gene was thirty-six years old, the same age as Salena’s husband. He was a handsome man. His wife had been dead for three years now, and Salena wondered why Gene had not found another woman to share his life. He didn’t seem the type to live a celibate life. Her husband had only been gone a short time and already she was finding it hard to be without the comforting arms of a man lying beside her at night. She was only twenty-six—too young to live the rest of her life without a husband.

Salena liked Gene. Lately, she found herself relying more and more on his help. He was also beginning to show signs of wanting more than friendship from their relationship. Salena knew she had only to tell him she wanted him to move into the farmhouse. He would oblige. But, she wasn’t ready to settle for companionship during the day and sexual gratification at night. Her boys adored Gene, but she only loved him as a friend. Still, sooner or later Salena knew Gene would ask—do I return to my job in Meadville or do you want me to stay? At the moment, she didn’t know how to answer that question—if he posed it.

Thomas Stamford had written that he was sailing to America. If Gene remained till Thomas arrived, there would be no need for him to stay any longer. Salena had considered sharing that information with Gene. After thinking it over, she decided now was not the right time.

Tomorrow I’ll check with the postmaster in the village, she said. After a final look toward the path leading to the big barn where Gene and the boys were feeding the stock, Salena prepared to go inside the house. Gene and the boys would be back soon and they would want their supper.

Salena’s steps were labored as she made her way across the porch. It had been a long and tiring day in the field. She rubbed her hands before reaching for the door latch. They were sore and blisters oozed a thick, sticky liquid. I gotta pad my gloves better, she muttered.

Before opening the door Salena heard the shrill cry of the jackdaw. She glanced toward the hill beyond the house where a freshly painted fence circled the small graveyard. Oh, Enoch, I pray the jackdaw’s appearance is an omen that you approve of what I’ve done. Thomas Stamford deserves to know he has a son, and I need someone to work the farm with me.

Salena wasn’t aware that Gene and the boys were coming up the porch steps. The man heard what she said but didn’t say anything until he ushered the boys inside the house. Then he asked Salena who Thomas Stamford was. Before answering, Salena looked to see if the door had closed behind the boys. She knew the time would come sooner or later when she would have to explain who Thomas was and why she had written to ask him to come to New London.

Gene, you and your wife were present when Enoch and I were married. Enoch accepted me even though he knew I was pregnant with an other man’s child. He never asked who the father was; he accepted Matthew as his son.

Before Salena could continue, Gene asked, This Thomas Stamford is the boy’s father, isn’t he? That’s why you sent for him.

Enoch is gone, Gene, and I needed someone to help with the farm and with the boys.

I came when I learned Enoch had been killed, Salena, because I knew you needed help. Since I’ve been here, I’ve felt needed; I like feeling needed. I was even planning to send word to Braxton Alexander Mead—he’s the man I worked for—telling him I don’t plan to return to Meadville. That’s what I was going to do, Salena—if you wanted me to stay.

Salena knew Gene wanted to stay; he wanted her to ask him to stay. There was hurt in his voice and pain in his eyes. She struggled to find words to make him understand how much she appreciated all he had done, not only for her but for the boys. How could she make Gene understand she needed his help now but could not promise his help would be needed after Thomas arrived?

You are very special to me and to the boys, Gene, but we can’t ask you to give up your job. If you need to resume your duties at the horse farm, we’ll understand. Thomas should be here soon. Would you want to stay and work with Thomas?

I buried my heart when I buried Evelyn and our little girl, Salena, but life goes on, Gene said, looking toward the hill where his wife and baby were buried. I need you and the boys, Salena. Enoch and my Evelyn would want us to make a home for the boys—together. Gene’s eyes begged for her to say she agreed.

When Salena was slow to answer, Gene said, Does Thomas Stamford know anything about farming? I suspect he doesn’t. You’ll still need my help—till the man learns what’s needed.

Salena told Gene she was pleased he was willing to stay and work with Thomas. But, she said, I’m not ready to commit to any relationship with any man. Thomas and I have been apart for more than ten years. It will take time for us to get reacquainted, and it will take time for Thomas to learn how to manage the farm. I’m not giving myself to any man just to have a crutch to lean on. Her voice was harsher than she intended. She saw the hurt in Gene’s eyes and almost reached out to comfort him, but didn’t.

I’m ever so grateful for your help and your support, Gene, she hurried on to say in a softer voice. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not come when you did, and I’m happy you’ve agreed to stay until Thomas arrives. We’ll work the farm on shares.

Then it’s agreed, Selena. I’m here to help. When it’s time for me to go, I’ll go.

Gene was standing close enough for Salena to feel his warm, moist breath on her face. She stepped back to avoid his arms. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but told him there could never be anything more than friendship between them.

I know couples who’ve built a good life on nothing but friendship, Salena.

The time would come, Gene, when we destroyed that friendship.

Salena turned quickly and disappeared inside the house. Gene sat on the top step of the porch for a long time. He heard Salena call to tell the boys to wash up and get ready for the evening meal. As he waited for her to call him to supper, his thoughts wandered back to the time Salena had arrived in New London from her home in Wales. She came to marry Enoch MacRae. It was an arranged marriage and he and his wife Evelyn were present at the wedding. Enoch was happy with the arranged marriage; it took time but eventually Salena accepted the bargain their parents had arranged. He knew she came to love Enoch in her own way, and it made him wonder why she couldn’t come to love him too.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door popped open and Matthew burst onto the porch. I’m hungry, the boy declared. Are you hungry, Uncle Gene?

The boy was Matthew, Salena’s ten-year-old son. He didn’t have Enoch’s short, stocky build or Enoch’s thick mop of blonde curls but he had Enoch’s determined way of looking at things. Jacob, the 5-year-old, was the one that looked most like Enoch. Jacob’s disposition and looks were a complete opposite from his brother. Jacob had Enoch’s blonde hair and blue eyes but possessed Salena’s fiery temper that needed no excuse to explode.

What’s Jacob up to? Gene asked, giving Matthew a good-natured swat on his backside.

He’s pretending, Matthew replied.

Pretending what?

Jacob claims that his finger hurts so he can’t bring in his share of fire wood for the night. I have to bring it all in by myself.

Gene told the boy he would help him bring the wood in if he helped make a fire in the fireplace. Matthew nodded eagerly and the two made their way to the woodpile. Matthew asked if Gene heard the call of the jackdaw.

I heard what sounded like a noisy crow, the man replied.

Momma says the jackdaw is the messenger of good and bad news. She also said that Poppa’s spirit soars beneath the blackbird’s wings. Do you believe that’s true, Uncle Gene?

Gene muttered a response but Matthew didn’t understand and asked him to