The Visit

By Kate Sullivan

The Visit is a vividly told tale of Neela, a beautiful widow during the 1890s. In her mountain cabin, she earns a living by using her talents to make and sell her quilts to the nearby towns people. Six years after the death of her beloved husband, she is visited by a mysterious old man that brings her a message from her late husband, Lucas.

A wonderfully rich cast of characters make this lively story an adventure, a surprise and a laugh at every turn of a page. Follow Neelas journey as she makes the beautiful quilts on a path to a new life. Just as the snowy winter melts into the glorious days of summer, this is at the on-set of the industrial revolution. Its a gentle time but awakening to all the possibilities of the modern age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462878932

Kate Sullivan

Raised in the Pacific Northwest, I have roots that run as deep as the Evergreens that grow here. I was lucky to be born to supportive parents that encouraged creativity and hobbies of all kinds. One thing that became a passion was quilt making and has been a mainstay for several decades. After my divorce 12 years ago, I took my quilting to a whole new level and began doing Professional Machine Quilting. I love customers and friends I’ve met through sewing. A strong Irish sense of self has helped me through some difficult times in my life, such as the heartbreak of Cancer. I am proud to recently be able to claim, I am a survivor. At 53, I still try everyday to be as creative as I can be. I share my life and home with my friend, James, my Bullmastiff, Molly and my black cat, Sam.

Book preview

The Visit

Kate Sullivan

Copyright © 2011 by Kate Sullivan.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2011909262

ISBN: Hardcover    978-1-4628-7892-5

ISBN: Softcover      978-1-4628-7891-8

ISBN: Ebook          978-1-4628-7893-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

99361

Special Thanks and Dedications

I’d like to dedicate this labor of love to the members of my family that were there in all the ups & downs of my life. Many of them were the inspiration for the characters that made this such a joy to write.

Many thanks go to DeeAnn DePaul, Joann Edds and Gloria Thompson that proofread and became my biggest cheerleaders throughout the process.

A special and heartfelt thank you goes to fellow quilt maker, Eleanor E. Ritter for use of the image of her beautiful sampler quilt on the cover. This quilt was the first quilt I had quilted as a Long-arm Professional Quilter.

To my entire group of quilt making friends I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. They have given me a hobby and job I’ve enjoyed for nearly 40 years. The amazing creativity of these ladies is truly a sight to behold.

Thanks also go out to the entire Xlibris.com Publishing for helping me along the way.

Lastly, there’s a quote that gave me the fortitude to continue this book whether it got published or not.

Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self.

Cyril Conway

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 1

THE COLD FOG drifted through the trees clinging to the branches as if to rest a while. The air had an eerie quiet that dared anything to disrupt the stillness but slowly from the distance, an evenly paced sound of steps through the snow. Each minute it grew louder and still no louder than a whisper. An image began to appear from the foggy mist. From the warmth of the log cabin through the window, a shape of horse and rider came into full view as they steadily moved with deliberate grace.

The rider was draped in a lavish cloak of lavender blue adorned with golden stars and dark brown speckled feathers. The feathers looked to be from the two owls Neela saw flying next to him, only leaving his side long enough to venture forward to find a limb of a snarled stump as if to be scouting the way. Then Neela’s eyes caught glimpse of a third owl, a White Snow owl that nearly blended to a transparent outline against the fog. About then the largest owl let out a shrill screech that shattered the silence like breaking glass.

It startled Neela so that she gasped and moved quickly away from the window. The owls and the rider’s horse quickly stopped and listened to the breeze, trying to gain focus on the rustling of Neela’s movements. Neela tried to be as quiet as she could but Neela was able to hear her own heart beating as she put a finger to her lips to quiet her dog. Neela was frightened of this stranger and the creatures that flanked his every movement.

Neela had lived alone in the cabin for many years. Her life there had become her sanctuary from the absurdity of skeptical looks from some of the town’s people. Neela had become quite the novelty and the subject of many tall tales. She had arrived at this place as a bride, not a young one as the term usually is applied, but nearer to her forties. Her late husband, Lucas, had been a strong caring man that had gone on a fur trap hunt nearly six years ago and never returned. It had been a treacherous winter.

The following spring, Neela got the sad news his body had been found tucked away in a small cave about a hundred yards above the snowline. Neela now no longer dwelled on how he passed, but reveled in their life they shared while he was alive. Lucas and Neela never had the chance to have any children. By the time they were married, both of them were far beyond that point and truly enjoyed each other. Neela knew Lucas longed to have had a son to teach all the things he knew and to help on the trap lines. Neela had learned how to survive in this wilderness and had never really known any other home where she’d felt as loved and cared for as she was with Lucas. She could still close her eyes and see him brushing the snow from his heavy coat and boots as he apologized for getting home past nightfall.

Neela would take a half-day’s journey with a wagon into town for supplies, to trade and sell her wares. Along with the skins she’d managed to trap, Neela made quilts for both warmth and for city folks that would pass through town. Each one was stitched lovingly by hand from Lucas’ shirts, left over scraps and snippets from the local dressmaker. Sometimes Mr. Logan at the Country Dry Goods Mercantile would suddenly have a yard or two of the exact thing Neela was looking for that someone else had him cut for a dress length and then changed their mind.

Just then Neela’s track dog, Molly raised her head with an alert stance. Her hackles slightly up and her soft brown eyes fixed on the door, with a bit of a low pitched growl, she looked at Neela, as much to say, Did you hear it too? Neela touched her ear and momentarily broke her concentration on the door. Neela spoke to her very softly, That’s okay, good girl, its fine. Neela was not used to having visitors here, even during the best of the summer days. Neela was perplexed as to who could possibly make their way through the cold and fog and moreover, why? This wasn’t anyone she recognized from town nor did he look weary from a long journey.

Neela watched as the rider, horse and winged creatures came to a stop in front of the cabin. Even though this man was a stranger to Neela, looking into his face, her fear seemed to melt away. As he dismounted his regal white stallion, Neela noticed how frail the old man was. His face was slightly obscured by the hood of his velvet cloak. His pure white whiskers were a stark contrast to the tanned weathered skin. He gave his companions a warm eyed smile and turned to see Neela at the window.

He spoke out, Fear not milady, thou I am a stranger to your eyes, I will not harm you. She moved gently and unlatched the bolted door, opening it slowly.

Neela asked, What brings you to my cabin?

He answered back, Only you will be able to answer that. My travel companions are in need of food and rest. Might you have some bits of table scraps for my owls? My horse is tired and chilled . . .

Before he finished speaking Neela interrupted him and said, Yes to the food and yes to a place for your steed. I have a small lean-to on the backside of the cabin that will serve as a resting place to be shielded from the wind. There’s also some hay to ease his hunger.

Thank you my dear, he replied. I will tend to them quickly and return to warm myself in front of your fire. He returned moments later and waited by the door for Neela to let him in. She saw a stately gentleness in his wise weathered face. His eyes were the color of blue that you only see within a flame. Neela ushered him toward the fireplace. He paused at what used to be Lucas’ chair and put his hand on the back of the chair where Lucas would rest his head after a long day. He closed his eyes and with an upward tilt of his head and smiled a small smile of contentment.

Neela said, This is my husband’s chair. Please, sit and rest yourself. May I get you some stew and cornbread? I know it’s not a feast for nobility such as yourself but it will nourish you.

He let out a laugh, Nobility? I’m sorry milady, but I am merely a lowly wizard.

With raised eyebrows, A wizard? Neela asked.

The smile changed to a concerned, yet unsettling seriousness which came over his face and he said, Yes, a wizard that has been sent from a great distance to ease suffering and loneliness of a friend’s loved ones.

Neela’s dog, Molly lay quiet on her blanket in front of the fire warming her short camel colored fur, not letting her eyes close completely as she surely pondered about this odd stranger that was sitting in a chair that had been unused for many years.

The wizard sat in Lucas’s sturdy yet lovingly worn wing-backed chair while Neela dished some stew and laid a hunk of cornbread on the edge of the plate. As Neela handed him the plate, she asked him, Sir, by what name do you go by and where you hail from?

He glanced back at Neela with an inquisitive look and said, Milady, only if you will share your name and tell me why you’re still here.

Neela nodded with agreement but asked, What do you mean, still here?

Your name? he asked.

My name is Neela; it’s an Irish Gaelic name that means champanion. Neela answered back with her eyes turned away from him. Neela had always found it difficult to talk about herself or about her life. Yet, she found herself more at ease with him. Neela was not sure why, but it was a comfortable feeling that Neela had not felt in many years.

Then he said, And why are you still here?

Neela slowly looked his way and said, Because this is my home, a home that my late husband, Lucas and myself built in the first spring season that we came here.

He paused and appeared to be carefully choosing his next words to Neela. And you have not re-married?

Neela gasped at his question, quickly rising and with shaken steps, walked to the fireplace and through misty eyes looked at Lucas’s picture that had been taken shortly before he left for his trap-line hunt. Her fingers gripped the edge of the rugged oak mantelpiece that William Harold, the owner of the bakery had made as a housewarming gift. Neela closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Thoughts and memories of her first real love flooded back to her mind.

Neela turned to the old man and with a sharp stern voice said, How dare you! Who are you to accept my generosity and speak to me in such a way?

Molly rose up slightly and sat squared off in front of him and let out a low-pitched growl. Neela said, Molly, its okay, Molly, No!

The old man slowly put his withered hands up to calm her fears and contempt of his question. Please Neela; please hear my meaning for asking such a bold and what may seem to be a presumptuous question. I knew your Lucas.

You knew him? When did you—how did you meet him? Neela’s eyes were tearing and her throat felt as if someone had their hands tightly around her neck, making it hard to breathe or talk.

He quietly said, Please sit and I will talk of your Lucas and how I came to know him.

Even though Neela felt like asking him to leave her home, she had an odd feeling that listening to him was the right thing to do. He might just be able to say his piece, finish his stew and leave.

He started to speak as Neela sat rigid in her chair, hands tightly clasped in her lap tugging on the corners of an old soft blue bandanna she’d pulled from the pocket of her apron to dry her tears. Molly had come to Neela’s side, sat very close and laid her head on Neela’s knee. Molly had an animal’s instinct that told her Neela was upset and she must have felt Neela needed comforting along with her protection.

First, he said, I need to tell you the answers to the first questions you asked me. My name is Beck; the Celtic meaning is, a lonesome brook searching for a river. I’ve traveled for far too many seasons to know from whence I came. My Mother was a Noble woman and my father was a wizard like myself but his gift was healing as in a way my gift is also healing. He used the laying on of hands and used his magic to ease pain, where my gift is to heal the aching of hearts now broken that once were filled with love. It’s the kind of ache that makes your days long and your nights unkind. I was named for my gift. I’ll help you find the way to your river.

I don’t understand. Neela said, What does this have to do with you knowing Lucas?

Beck then brought his warm hands to her clasped fingers to stop her from fidgeting with the bandanna and held them and looked straight into my eyes and said, I was with him when he left this world on the wings of angels. He begged me to tell you his last thoughts when the time was right and to use my gift to heal your aching heart.

Neela looked toward Beck with a soulful fear, a pensive yearning to know what could’ve been on Lucas’ mind as he found his way into the cave away from the bitter cold that eventually took his life.

Beck told Neela that, Although Lucas had regretted not meeting you earlier in life to be able to have children, Lucas still wanted you to remember him fondly but to move forward and find love again. He knew that you would find it hard to move from the cabin, but none the less, wanted you to build another closer to town and not to be a recluse with your memories and ghosts of the past.

Neela looked around the cabin and the visions of all the happy times danced through her mind. Her eyes came across the homemade log bed with a special carving in the headboard that she once shared with Lucas, where he taught her that love does not have to be painful or make you sad. His reading glasses still rested on the side table near the oil lamp that gave a low light, just enough to see the outline of his strong gentle face smiling when he took her in his arms and held her, kissing her face before making love to her. It was the same low light that by early morning’s dawn that allowed them to reignite the passion again and cherish the joy in waking up next to each other.

Neela’s eyes followed around to the worn trestle table where they shared their meals, where the head of the table had been as lonely as Neela had been for the past six years. The cribbage board and cards lay on the mantle with their own measure of dust. His razor strap was still on the hook near the cook stove. Neela delighted in watching Lucas shave his whiskers in the morning.

She fondly remembered the first few times she watched him, her face would unknowingly shift and contort the same as his face did while the straight razor carefully traveled down his cheek. Many times Lucas would quickly stop and look at Neela from the reflected angle of his small mirror. Lucas would catch her with her chin tilted upward with her lips puckered and off to one side. He would start to chuckle and she would blush and start laughing. Then she thought of the time Lucas turned quickly and gave her a kiss, leaving soapy shaving suds on her cheeks and nose. So many memories as she gazed further around the cabin.

The bunch of wildflowers that Lucas had picked for Neela’s wedding bouquet still hung from the rafters. Neela sat stunned for a moment and began to cry. It was like saying good-bye to Lucas all over again. After a short while she dried her tears and thought about what Beck had said to her, about Lucas and about his hopes that her future would be happy.

By now the hour was getting late and the fog had changed to an ever-so-light snow. It was as if small flecks of goose down had been set loose on the night breeze. The moon had become visible and lit the landscape to a misty blue where the trees stood in silhouetted darkness against the moon’s glow.

Neela needed some time to let the words she heard from this stranger start to make sense and gain some perspective about her life and future. Neela sighed and told Beck, I need to go to bed and try somehow to rest. By light of morn, things may appear less overwhelming. All that you’ve told me is a lot to have my heart and mind to digest.

Beck excused himself and was making his way to the lean-to to check his horse and to see that the owls had found cover in the branches of the tall pines. Neela called out to him, You don’t need to sleep with your stock. Please rest warmly by the hearth. I have an old feather bed I can lay out on the floor and quilts for you to wrap yourself in. Please stay the night and I will fix us a hardy breakfast before I have to head into town at daybreak. I can lead you into town as we talk of your travels.

Beck agreed and helped to make a comfortable resting place for his stay. Neela went to the far corner of the cabin and undressed and put her nightshift on behind the dressing screen and lifted the down comforter and a quilt and snuggled down into bed. The thoughts of this evening’s events had made her weary and eager to close her eyes to allow all her thoughts to find their way and shine a light to guide her to where the future may allow her to awaken that part of her life that died with Lucas.

After rustling a bit Neela quietly said, Good Night, Beck.

He answered, Good Night, Milady, may your dreams be pleasant.

Images-1_log cabin.jpg

Chapter 2

AS MORNING DAWNED, the fog that had frosted on the landscape started to melt as the sun glistened through the tall evergreens. It was shining through to the snowy ground and the snow drifts sparkled as if diamond dust had been scattered by the hands of pixies in the pre-dawn hours. The chirp of small birds filled the morning’s quiet and she heard a squirrel scamper across the roof of the cabin. The soft commotion has caused Beck to let out a slight snore. Neela arose quickly and put on an old brick red and royal blue plaid robe that was once Lucas’s and was fairly oversized on her frame. Neela stepped into her slippers and headed to the fireplace to start a fire. The hearth and surrounding rocks were still warm from the night before and after stirring the ashes, a few glowing coals made the fire easier to start.

Neela turned her backside toward the fire and looked down at Beck’s face as he lay sleeping. Neela wondered if Beck had been truthful about Lucas and his wishes for her to move forward and not dwell in the past. Neela thought to herself, I am not a rich woman of means, nor do I have much that others would cherish that I hold dear. As she placed another log on the fire, concerning questions raced into her mind. How could I move into town as Lucas conveyed to this old man in the days or hours before his death? Would the town’s people accept me into the folds of the community? All the questions Neela had swirling around her head were starting to make her dizzy. Then Neela realized it just wasn’t the thoughts of all that, she hadn’t had breakfast or her morning coffee to clear the cobwebs from her mind.

Neela shuffled her way about ten feet to the black cast iron cook stove, put some paper and kindling in and went back to the fireplace to light a small stick to light the fire to begin warming the stove. The crackle and snap of the cedar woke Beck. For just a moment he stirred and then just as he opened his eyes. He had a quick surprised jolt until he remembered where he was. He looked toward the cook stove as Neela was putting the kettle for coffee on the now hot surface of the stove. Neela glanced back at him and smiled. He smiled, closed his eyes again and stretched his arms upward letting out a little groan and then bringing his hands down to stroke his beard. Just then a small sputter sound came from beneath his quilt. He quickly opened his eyes, looked at Neela and said, Please, pardon me Milady. I’m not in the habit waking in the presence of anyone much beyond my owls and horse.

Neela looked at him and gave a snicker as she shook her head and wrinkled her nose as much to say, That’s okay, no worries. Neela put another log on the fire then went back to the stove and poured two mugs of piping hot coffee. Neela carefully put a small bit of sugar in hers and gave it a quick stir and asked Beck, Anything in yours?

He answered back, Yes, if you have a spot of cream or milk, it would be ever so grand. The coffee as I get older, seems to upset my stomach, so the cream tempers it and makes it most enjoyable.

As Neela handed him the mug, still halfway under the quilt, he sat up and said with a bright-eyed smile, Good Morning to you.

Neela returned the greeting with, And to you.

Both paused slightly, blew on the hot mugs of coffee then each took a sip as Neela made sure the front of her robe was overlapped and she was well covered.

Beck stroked his long whiskers as if he were petting a kitten then reached up with his little finger and stuck in his ear as far as he could, then wiggled and scratched it.

Neela yawned and stretched so it wasn’t as noticeable that she was snickering at Beck’s less than social demeanor and at times, nearly crude but always unaware of any wrongdoing and said, I have to ride into town for some supplies this morning so I can be back before darkness falls. Would you care to travel with me to town?

Beck quickly answered back, I’ll go as far as the edge of town and then I’ll be on my way.

Neela asked, On your way where?

Beck took a big sip of his coffee and gave a hum of approval at the taste. He then looked up to where his eyes met hers and said, Off to where my gift and destiny guides my journey . . . where I’m needed next.

With a puzzled look, Neela asked him, Why do you only want to ride as far as the outskirts of town?

After another sip of coffee he looked away at the fireplace glowing with a roaring fire and said, People in town may not be as easy to accept a stranger, such as myself.

With a roll of her eyes, shrug of her shoulders and a short sigh, Neela nodded her head in agreement. Yes, you would be difficult to explain to some of the folks in town. There may be a lot of raised eyebrows at the site of an old man traveling with three owls.

Beck quickly snapped back with, OLD MAN, you say? As Neela stammered for words to amend what was taken at what first seemed to be an insult, Beck let out a laugh that nearly echoed within the small cabin. Laughing, he said, I am much younger than most wizards you may meet.

With a bewildered lilt, yet comical tone to her voice, Neela ask him, On an average, how many wizards do you think I meet in any given month? then Neela smiled a Cheshire Cat type grin before letting out a laugh of her own.

Ah-ha, a quick witted woman, you are. Beck laughed.

On that note, Neela said, I’ll start making us some breakfast and some food for a small snack for our ride to town. Hotcakes, side pork and leftover cornbread are all I have until I go to town.

Beck sighed and proclaimed, A feast for any soul with an empty hand, Milady . . . I mean, Neela.

Shortly after breakfast Neela ventured out to ready the team and snow wagon. Lucas had outfitted one of the two wagons they had with sleigh runners for the icy cold trips into town. The runners made the team thankful not to hoist the weight while fighting snow drifts and slippery trails that at times could’ve rendered a good toboggan course. Beck’s horse watched Neela curiously as he munched on a mixture of alfalfa and some fine strand timothy hay. Neela only saw two of the owls yet heard a distant screech as she turned to look; Neela saw the outline of the white owl’s outstretched wings silhouetted against the bright sun. He landed and came to rest upon the corner of the lean-to. Landing just hard enough to allow two or three icicles to give way from the eve and fall to the ground. Then the large white owl surveyed the entire scene as he turned his head nearly backwards to both the left and right. He let out another small reverberating screech as Beck came out of the cabin with a few scraps he’d saved back from his breakfast to give to his winged companions.

"What are the names of your creatures? Neela asked.

He said, My steed is known as, La Licome, its French for the Unicorn; the large owl is named Coal for his color, the small one is Ott, for when I found him, he and an Otter were drinking from the same pond of cool mountain water. The beautiful white owl is Crionna, a term meaning wise in the Celtic land I come from, far, far away from here.

By light of day, Beck seemed smaller and even frailer than he did the night before and not as fierce looking. But then most all strangers in the darkness appear larger in our minds, regardless of what our eyes tell us.

Beck walked over to Neela and held out his hands and gently cupped them around her small hands and looked at the wedding ring on her finger and said, Your Lucas was so proud of you, more proud than you know. Lucas was also hopeful for your future to be filled with good memories and much deserving happiness.

He reached into the inside pocket of his fur lined clock and retrieved a small rectangular wooden box. He put the box in Neela’s hand with a sad kind of smile as he turned his eyes away from her view. It was rustically exquisite, about eight inches long and just over three inches in both width and depth. It was heavily carved in extraordinary detail. As Neela pondered the skill and beauty, she saw her name carved into the top of the box. Neela looked up at him and said, How did you . . . when . . . ?

He stopped Neela and said, I did not make this. Lucas had been working on it while on his trap line hunts and was meaning to give it to you on your birthday, about two weeks after what was planned to be his return. I’ve carried this for six long years and Lucas knew he’d never be up to making the journey home, so he gave this to me along with the note you’ll find within.

Neela’s hands were shaking but managed to gently pull the lid off and saw inside the upper lid carved the design of two interlocking hearts within a larger heart. She knew instantly what it meant; Heart of my Heart had been a phrase they had grown to say to each other instead of I love you. There was Lucas’ gold wedding band wrapped around a small scroll of paper. Neela slowly slipped the ring off the tube-like paper and placed his ring on her index finger then unrolled the paper to see Lucas’s handwriting, it looked much like the letters of a child. Lucas had never been very skilled at the written word or spelling. But Neela could read it plainly.

Hart of my Hart—I leve you my hart to giv to some one that wil love you all yowr days. Pleze put me to rest and love agin, Lucas. Neela took a deep breath as her eyes saw there was a small carved heart in the box along with a lock of his hair.

Neela’s hands were shaking but she managed to gently re-roll the paper, place it back in the box along with the heart, leaving the ring on her finger. Neela clutched the box close to her heart and whispered, Heart of my Heart.

Then Neela looked at Beck who was now mounted on the regal La Licome with a smile and said, I know what you meant when you said, only I would know why you came to me at my cabin. I know what I must do now to make Lucas’s final days worth the loss I’ve suffered beyond losing him.

Neela finished some quick morning chores, closed the door to the cabin, climbed on to the loaded wagon and covered her legs with a wool quilt she had made for riding back and forth in this chilly wilderness.