Brow of Stone

By Kaylee Reilley Christian

During the toilsome era of the 1920’s few dreamed of frivolous fortunes. But Gregory Allen, despite his humble upbringing, did more than dream. He achieved wealth, power, and a large estate in his early twenties with the help of family and a watchful friend. Still, Gregory didn’t feel complete happiness without the love of the girl h

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Jan 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947765627

Book preview

Brow of Stone

Copyright © 2018 by Kaylee Railey Christian.

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-947765-61-0

ISBN eBook: 978-1-947765-62-7

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

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Book design copyright © 2018 by ReadersMagnet, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ericka Walker

Interior design by Shieldon Watson

Contents

Prologue

Family

Africa

From the Mountain

Wandering

Home

Evil Seeds

Intruder

Plotting

Unrewarded

Undone

Anne

Unveiled

Returning 

Clay Jane Inside a Troubled Mind

Dark Solution

Running Away

Festering

Foreword

Looking for Answers

Folly, Forgiven, Forgotten, Found

Prologue

Using duct tape, Gregory strapped down the explosive to the concrete pillar. Taking the law into my own hands, he thought. Any court of law would put him away for what he was doing. The building was strong, but Gregory could make it weak, he had been a part of every stage of its construction. A pervasive calm filled him even though his actions would obliterate the entire building. Each explosive strapped down was one step closer to taking everything from Victor. Gregory hated Victor as he should. It would soon be over then he could walk away and leave it all behind.

He was the only living soul that knew where the hidden entrance was. It had given Gregory many opportunities to manipulate the fall of Victor. His plan had gone beautifully, it hadn’t been enough. The only remaining choice was to take it all, leave him with nothing.

The moment to ignite was upon Gregory, his finger hovered over the switch. The final motion froze when a flicker of movement caught Gregory’s eye. Agitation shot through him as he realized a man was coming from the building. He had never intended to kill anyone. This man whoever he was, was working in the shadows at night. Why is he here, he wondered. Gregory realized that the man was heading in his direction and that he needed to act now.

The deafening sound slapped the stillness of the night and the earth shook with rage. The blinding light impaired his sight, and Gregory squinted sheltering his eyes from the luminous invasion. Through blurred vision Gregory caught a glimpse of the outline of a man vaulted from the blast and being pulverized onto the ground with disfiguring force. Debris rained upon the ground in all directions. The body of the now distorted man lay motionless. He had done it. He had killed someone.

Spring was creeping into Gentle Valley. Blossoms were blooming, and the world was becoming alive. This was Gregory’s favorite kind of day. New life was coming to the earth and to his home. They were having a baby. Gregory watched with a smile as his wife waddled toward him. Are you laughing at me sir Emily Jane asked her husband in a sultry voice and attempted a glamorous pose. Gregory chuckled and walked over to his wife pressing a kiss to her forehead. You are exquisite, he said as he placed a hand on the round stomach that moved with eager life. I thought you were going to sleep? He chided his wife and was going to send her up to her bed, when she broke in, Your sister brought over some pictures yesterday. I wanted you to see them. Emily Jane took her husband’s hand and walked him to the porch swing.

The first picture was of the couple on their wedding day. Both beamed with joy. The photo was taken in front of the large manor Gregory had built. They were standing on the very porch they were now reclining on. Emily Jane’s head was nestled on Gregory’s shoulder. Her sleek honey colored hair was a great contrast to that of her husband’s ebony curls. The top of her head barely reached his strong shoulder. Gregory had taken a few photos of Emily Jane nestled in his field of flowers. His two great loves—flowers and Janie.

Gregory had been very fortunate over the past ten years. He had built up a large business that had expanded to several states and a few other countries. Flowers and perfumes is where he had started. Now the business had branched into many types of commodities and was growing steadily. Life could not be more perfect.

To glimpse into Gregory’s childhood, one would hardly imagine such a past could bring such a future. On an April morning, some ten years earlier, was a fifteen-year-old boy bearing the burdens of a man. His father had been killed in a hunting accident, leaving a weary mother of five children with a large farm and a large debt of money borrowed against the land to improve the farm. Before the improvements could be made and the money repaid, Mr. Allen Sr. met his demise. So at a young age, Gregory Allen had to work hard and tirelessly, day in and day out, to be the man of the house. He had been taught much by his father, and he knew how to work. But he was still small. He employed the help of his siblings all he could, and his mother worked more than one person should have to. They farmed, they hunted, and they took on any job, great and unpleasant. They all worked to exhaustion every day just to keep food on the table, to keep the farm, and to pay their debts.

Despite the conditions, Gregory managed to stay a bright and cheery boy. Most everyone liked him and looked kindly on his family’s situation. People in the town would give as much work as they could and would pay as generously as possible. Mr. Martin, who owned the town shop, hired Gregory to travel once a week to neighboring towns and pick up supplies and special orders. Gregory loved this job. He loved Mr. Martin. He was kind and generous and gave the Allen family much needed help. The job Mr. Martin gave Gregory got him away from the daily grind of a farm and gave him a moment of freedom and youth. Each time he returned from his trip, he would gather a large bouquet of flowers to adorn the dilapidating table at their home. It was the only gift he could ever bring his mother. She loved them. And with time, the bouquet was a greatly anticipated arrival. With each passing week the flowers grew to be more and more beautiful and became more artistic and unusual. More importantly, Gregory developed an art of making arrangements that would bring the most delightful fragrance. Anyone stopping at the Allen home couldn’t help but admire the flowers’ unusual beauty and unforgettable aroma. Gregory’s mother started to make satchels of the flowers. Many of the women in town started to buy them. Most would use them for their homes in drawers and cupboards and often arrange them in ornate jars to place in the bath to keep the air smelling fresh. Some of the young girls started to wear delicate, needlework satchels on their wrists or even small, ornamented sacks dangling softly about their necks.

Fragrant fashion was born in the small town of Gentle Valley and soon after spread to neighboring towns, then nearby states, and even some countries. The large Allen farm that had not been producing, even to a fraction of its potential, was soon home to many greenhouses and fields of the earth’s most beautiful blooms and shortly following, as demand grew, many employees. New industry and new jobs came to the struggling town.

Gregory had gained a large home, a thriving business, and leadership in the community. There was one thing he desired still: love. Throughout his growing years, some of his peers would take great pleasure in tormenting Gregory. It was inevitable, considering his family’s financial situation. His clothing was always too worn, too dirty, and too small. His face and hands also usually bore the soil and smell of a day’s hard farming. And with his work demands, he rarely had the luxury of attending school. So he never seemed to have the wit to retort any ill joke made at his expense. But if ever at any time Emily Jane was near, she would come to his rescue. She would stand firm with scowls and reprimands. It wasn’t often easy on her either. The more refined and more popular girls turned their jokes on her. Many said she was sure to be the lofty princess of poverty. She became a bit of an outcast. Emily never cared. Her heart always had her do what was good. She really could never see herself being friends with such petty girls anyway. She saw it as a benefit that they turned and mocked her when she stood up to people. It revealed their true nature and saved her from wasting time on friendships that could never be true.

In his early twenties, Gregory Allen came into a great part of his wealth. And for a little more than a year, he spent all of his spare time and would find ways to create more spare time on pursuing the thing he wanted most, a future Mrs. Emily Jane Allen.

One day, in early winter, he received a package from Africa. Gregory had hired many flower scouts to travel the world and bring him new and exotic flowers. He had quite a collection. On this winter morning, when the package from Africa arrived, he was very eager to receive it. He had news from a scout of a flower so rare and lovely. The tribes and villages spoke of it as almost myth. It was spoken of in their greatest love stories. But the scouts searched and questioned tribe after tribe. They searched hills, mountains, and riverbeds, only to find more tales and more myth. It had been nearly a year now without a bud, a petal, a leaf. He hoped with so much eagerness—not so much as to add the flowers uniqueness to his line of fragrances and satchels and such, but for her. Emily. He wanted to present her with something uniquely hers. He loved her and desired with nearly every waking thought that he wanted Emily Jane to be his wife. He wanted this special flower as a token of his love and to give him courage as he knelt. He had even wanted the token so much he had delayed his proposal in hopes the flower could be found.

So in his hand was a package. His hand shook slightly at the thought of opening it. The long awaited—for package was here. He paused hopefully. Then, with great eagerness and speed, he tore into the package.

There she was. Delicate as promised. Stem of blinding whiteness; long, flowing, smooth, billowing leaves that glowed white at the base, then near the upper third of the leaf a hint of soft blue; growing a deeper blue till it almost looked black on the very edge. The petals of the flower were full, velvety, and folded in on themselves. The outer petals were deep blue and faded lighter and lighter until the petals in the center were brilliant white. But there, in the very most center of the flower, were small, slender shoots of crimson red, like a bow on a package, topping it in splendor.

Gregory spent a long time turning it softly in his hands, examining its details with relish and feeling its magic. He gently caressed its delicate petals, smooth stem, and tender leaves. He breathed in the flower’s unique aroma. It was difficult to put such a smell into a category. It was intoxicating. His head began to spin and blur, but at the same time he felt content, at peace. He had the token he had been hoping for. Janie he decided would be a good name for the flower. For that is how he would often refer to her, in his mind and in his dreams. Then, with a sudden jolt of realization, he jumped into action, planning the perfect, proposal of marriage.

In stealth Gregory spent the next month finishing a grand greenhouse behind his new, large manor. The framework was made of a soft bone-colored marble. Etched onto the marble were detailed vines, fruits, and blossoms. Then where the glass walls and the marble met, slender golden rods that looked like ropes brought the two together. The structure was strong and elegant. When stepping into the entrance, there could be seen a ceiling that was about twenty feet high, then a path of bone marble that lead to the center of the greenhouse; with charming benches, waterfalls, ponds, and fountains. The floor was built with varying levels from side to side. Planting areas staggered, giving the eye want to wonder and peer around every corner, exhilarated to see what was just beyond. Small paths were created to encourage visitors to meander and explore the subtle beauties of the plants growing there. So much work and planning was spent in choosing the perfect plants, perfect balance for growth, perfect environment, and to be sure a paradise. More colors and varieties of plants and flowers were there; more than were known to any one place, ever. Each plant was methodically placed for maximum visual and fragrance pleasure. The center of the greenhouse opened up to a forty-foot ceiling, allowing for tall trees and the occasional exotic bird’s song as it flew by, or a butterfly the size of your hand that glistened as it caught the light and showed off its brilliant-colored wings.

He attended to every detail. An elegant swing hung from a strong bough of a great oak tree that the greenhouse was built around. String music played softly with two violins at the hands of well-trained musicians. Set gently on a pillar lay a small, wrapped box and a petite vase holding a white-stemmed flower with white and blue petals and white and blue leaves, with delicate streaks of crimson dancing at its center.

The night began with a carefully planned out-of-doors dinner set well within one of his lovely orchards. An elegantly set table sat with lavish linens and imported dishes from around the globe. Gregory hired a small staff to help bring out the dishes of food chosen from menus of the world. The meal may not have been found in a refined restaurant in France, but that is how Gregory wanted it to be. He wanted to surprise her, charm her, and bring her an idea of how he planned to give her a life of wonder and delight. She could have the world, if she wanted it.

At most times throughout his life, Gregory was shy and awkward. He had become better spoken and refined with age. But his shyness and inability to say much of anything around Janie had remained. But tonight a strange strength filled him as they dined. He found he had so much to share with her. She listened with piqued interest. And as the evening progressed, Ms. Janie opened up and shared dreams and ideas and reminisced of many childhood memories. There was never once a slow in the conversation. They laughed often and spoke openly of their shared hopes and found such happiness in just looking into one another’s face to find a friend and love.

The evening was going so magically. Gregory, emboldened by the success thus far, stood and offered Emily an outstretched hand and asked her to join him for a turn about the orchard. She gracefully accepted and blushed slightly as her hand was enveloped by his large strong hand.

They walked for some time. Conversation was still. They walked hand in hand, breathing in the loveliness of the evening and all that grew around them. Gregory was surprised to find that at this moment, he had finally let go of a lifetime belief of being beneath others, never because of anything Emily Jane had done, but because of his station of poverty and lack of education, in direct contrast to her upbringing of wealth and proper schooling, not to mention her gift at the piano; a gentle, sweet singing voice; and many other talents