Slender Threads: Fate: Book 1 in the Slender Threads Series

By L. W. Ellis

The time is 1838 and the place is Tennessee. Tethered to the rigid rules and limited choices of the old South, Rachel struggles to accept the loss of John Rollins, her great love. Its been three painful years since John answered Crocketts Texian call to arms. Never having received any of the dozens of letters John had written her and believing him dead, Rachel is now married to Luke Thompson. It was a marriage arranged by her father for practical and political reasons. Her one source of solace is her infant son, Andrew.

With Johns sudden return from the dead, Rachels life and marriage are thrown into turmoil. As the weeks pass, the mysterious disappearance of Johns letters brings to light an intricate web of deception as Rachel is caught in a seemingly hopeless dilemmastay in a marriage she never wanted or leave with John and risk losing her son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781504394482

L. W. Ellis

L. W. Ellis loves history! As a professional archaeologist and historian for more than twenty years, her study of mankind has led her down some amazing paths, challenging her to see the world differently. She was always the kid who asked "why" and that hasnt changed. She continues to be fascinated by the intricacies of the past and its continuing influence on the present. Through her explorations, she has learned that words have power. They awaken our senses to the beauty and spirit of the world around us and capture the essence of divergent concepts. No longer constrained by all that pesky data, shes taken her knowledge of science and southern history and ventured into the world of womens and historical fiction with all its infinite possibilities. She lives and writes on the north shore of beautiful Lake Travis in Lago Vista, Texas. To learn more about L. W. Ellis, check out her educational website www.nurturethemind.com or her author website at www.lwellis.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

BEDFORD COUNTY, TENNESSEE

1838

Cradling her eight-month old son in her arms, Rachel Edmunds Thompson stood on the brick walkway watching Caleb Townsend shove the last of the household supplies into the wagon bed. She wished Luke had come with her today. She hated handling the heavily laden Conestoga when she had Andrew with her.

Thank you, Caleb. This should do for a while.

Welcome, Rachel. With the stained sleeve of his shirt, he wiped sweat from his brow. Sure is hot today. Don’t feel like September, does it?

Long russet lashes framed her large green eyes as she scanned the bright blue sky. No, it surely doesn’t. Some rain would help. With her free hand, Rachel nudged an errant curl back up under the flared brim of her hat. Standing in the direct sunlight, her cotton day dress felt uncomfortably warm, yet she knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d need to unpack her wool gabardine dresses and pélerine capes. She sighed quietly. Yet another year.

Where’s Luke today? Caleb asked.

Hunting. That brother of his talked him into leaving before dawn this morning. You know Luke. He never denies James a thing. She smiled weakly. Best not to let others see your sorrow as Mama always said.

Sure enough, he said with a chuckle. Those Thompson boys always seem to get what they want.

Oh yes, Rachel reflected with a tinge of bitterness. That they do. After all, this is Thompsonville we live in.

She swallowed the ache that once again threatened to escape its hiding place. Why could she not forget him? Why was he so in her thoughts still? Maybe it was because she’d had the dream again last night. Its images flooded her.

There was darkness, an inky well of nothingness. Eyes open wide, she peered into the blackness, searching for even the tiniest flicker of light … nothing, not even a shadow. A whisper of panic brushed against her and she called out to him.

Suddenly, the ground beneath fell away, and cold, raging water swallowed her. Her heavy woolen dress twisted round her legs. Her body, heavy with pain, was battered against the rocks as her useless arms flailed in desperation. Lungs near bursting, her head bobbed to the surface. She gasped for air but breathed only water.

Terror … then the strangest sense of calm as the image of John’s face filled the void. Resistance drained from her body, and she slowly sank into the murky depths. She would be with him now.

It was always the same. Cold, dark fear washed away by the image of his face. She could sense him all around her, feel the incredible joy they would share in that brilliant place of light. Then the aching sadness when she awoke to find her life as it was.

She sighed then straightened her shoulders and turned her attention to Andrew. As always, his answering smile lightened her spirit.

Good day, Caleb, Rachel said as she stepped to the wagon. Andrew squirmed and fussed as she lowered him into the basket on the floorboard. He hated being tied down in the basket, but he’d gotten so big she just couldn’t handle her rambunctious son and still manage to lead the mules. She murmured soothing words as she tied the cloth straps around him. I know baby, it’s no fun not being able to see where you’re going. It was about time for his afternoon nap. She hoped the movement of the wagon would quiet him and he’d drift off to sleep.

Take care now, Rachel. Give Luke my best, Caleb called out as the wagon pulled away.

As the heavy Conestoga lumbered down the street, Rachel scanned the two-story brick buildings now lining the main street of Thompsonville. Papa said there was a depression, but one would never know it from looking at the dozen or more new businesses that had sprung up over the last two years. When she was a little girl, the town had been no more than a haphazard scatter of structures clustered around the old Thompson Grist Mill, the one Luke’s grandparents had built when they’d first come to the valley. After their death, Luke’s father, Larkin, and his two brothers had inherited the mill and the large forwarding house that served as the clearinghouse for most of the grain crops produced in the valley. Now that Luke and his brothers and cousins were grown, it seemed as though there was a Thompson-owned business on nearly every one of the ten square blocks that now made up the thriving little town.

Well, Andrew, she said, smiling down at her son, maybe next time we come to town we’ll go visit your Uncle Stephen’s new tobacco manufactory.

One of Stephen’s primary crops was tobacco, so he’d been quick to recognize the advantages of owning his own factory. Stephen was trying to convince Luke to put in a field of tobacco at next planting, but Luke didn’t seem all that interested in the prospect. Even though he would never discuss such things with her, Rachel was sure Luke was much more interested in smoking the good quality cigars from his brother’s shop than in growing the tobacco that went into making them.

Then again, she understood why Luke had no interest in growing tobacco. After all, horses were his true passion, and he was determined to build a stable that would rival any of those in the state, including her father’s. More than anything, Luke was intent on raising a champion thoroughbred that would eventually provide him an unbroken string of first place winners at the annual Shelbyville Horse Show.

A tugging on her skirt captured her attention. Smiling, she scrutinized the tiny little hand that had somehow managed to capture the hem of her dress. Andrew’s large gray eyes were intently focused on his accomplishment. With studied determination, he was attempting to use the extra leverage to pull himself up out of the basket. Rachel stifled a laugh. Thankful for the wagon’s high sideboards, she reached down and pried the material from his hand. Andrew, you are a determined little boy.

As she drew near the new confectionery shop, Rachel saw Mary Reynolds—one of her mother’s dearest friends—step out of the front door and onto the new brick walkway. A rather substantial woman, Mary was surreptitiously clutching a small bag beneath the mantle of her ample bosom. Rachel suppressed her amusement as she waved and called out to her. Good day, Mary. I see you’re going to try some of Mr. Wrenn’s sweets.

Startled, Mary looked up and her eyes flew open wide when they settled on the diminutive young woman perched atop the massive Conestoga. Even from this distance, Rachel could see the flush spreading across the proper matron’s round cheeks.

Obviously embarrassed at having been caught actually buying such luxuries, Mary made an awkward attempt to further obscure the small bag by sliding her reticule around to partially cover it. Why, good afternoon, Rachel. I just stopped in to invite Mrs. Wrenn to our next ladies social, she replied primly.

That was very thoughtful of you, Mary.

Mary tipped her head. We hope to see you there, she added, waving a quick goodbye.

Rachel couldn’t help but smile as she watched her mother’s friend scurry off down the street. Mary always did have a sweet tooth. Just like John. He would be in there all the time. There was a sudden catch in her throat and her smile faded when she realized where her thoughts had taken her. She inhaled deeply, pushing back the aching sadness.

Andrew’s cries pierced her heavy-hearted haze. His most recent escape thwarted, he was once again sputtering and straining. Rachel reached down and patted the fussing baby. Shhhh, little one. One more stop to make and then we’ll be on our way. We just need to ask Mr. Robertson if your papa’s new bridle has arrived.

She turned at the next cross street and headed three blocks east toward the saddlers. Ben Robertson had recently moved his shop into one of the newly constructed buildings now located down the street from the livery stable. The move may have been good for Ben’s business, but it was definitely a detour for Rachel, one she would much rather have avoided.

When she reached the front of the saddler’s shop, Rachel reined in the mules and climbed down from the wagon. She resisted the impulse to look down the street toward Isaac’s Livery Stable. It was about this time three years ago that she and John had shared that wonderful meal with Isaac and Mattie. She distracted herself by straightening the ribbon tie that secured her hat. Yet even as she tried not to look, she found her gaze pulled across the street toward the cavernous stables occupying most of the next block. Up until a year ago, the livery had been on the outskirts of town, but now that the burgeoning community had grown out to meet it, it was much harder to avoid.

Andrew’s sniffling cries breached her disobedient thoughts, and she turned from the stables. Quickening her pace, she walked around to the other side of the wagon to liberate the fussing baby.

His cheeks flushed bright red as he strained to escape the confines of the basket.

Andrew. What am I going to do with you? she chastised as her hands found the restraining straps. But before she could untie them, her attention was drawn to a lone rider who had just stopped in front of the livery. She peered across the street as the man dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail in front. He was in the shadow cast by the building, but she studied his stocky frame as he made his way toward the stable’s wide doors. He walked with a slight limp, yet there was something familiar about him.

The breath caught in her throat, and she swayed toward the sideboard. A ghost! Dear God. My denial has brought me to this. I’m seeing ghosts.

Her pulse raced, and she fought to control her breathing. Slowly she lifted her head to peer over the wagon seat, so sure the apparition would be gone, that her eyes had only been playing tricks on her. But the ghost was still there, only now he was talking with Davy Harper. Her head began to spin and she leaned against the wagon, not trusting her legs to hold her up.

Andrew’s cries grew louder at the delay in releasing him. Hush, baby, Mama needs to … Her voice trailed off as she turned in time to see Davy Harper and the man emerge from the shadows. They were engaged in spirited conversation as they crossed the street and stepped up onto the brick walkway.

Her white-knuckled fingers gripped the sideboard of the wagon as she studied the man—the fair skin, the dark hair peeking from beneath the brim of his hat, the broad shoulders, and the smile, the same disarming smile that stirred whomever it touched. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. The ribbon tied beneath her chin seemed to be strangling her. She ripped the hat from her head and flung it onto the wagon seat.

Slowly, she edged her way toward the rear of the wagon, watching the two men make their way down the opposite side of the street. When they drew even with her, she stepped into the open.

The man stopped. As if sensing her presence, he searched the faces on the street. Then he saw her and the light of recognition flared. Bounding from the walkway, he ran toward her. Rachel. Rachel, I’m home. I’ve come back for you.

He’s alive. The reality of it slammed into her, and she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her heart. What have I done? Just before he reached her, the clangorous street noise faded to a muffled roar and her vision narrowed as a dusky, gray stain blotted out the bright sunlight.

30599.png

Far away voices probed the darkness. John Rollins? His whispered name tumbled from one to the other.

As the black void slowly receded, Rachel realized he was holding her, cradling her in his arms. Rachel. Rachel. Why didn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t you wait? She didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted only this moment—the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing. She didn’t want to see the look in his eyes when she tried to explain.

She heard Ben Robertson’s bewildered voice. But we thought you were dead, along with Colonel Crockett and the rest of his Tennessee volunteers.

I wrote. I wrote to her.

But the only word we heard was that you’d all been killed at that old mission in Texas, Ben exclaimed.

She had to open her eyes, but if she moved she would lose the feel of his arms forever. What have I done? The words tumbled round and round in her head as the muddled voices on the street grew louder. Beneath the edges of her veiled lashes, she glimpsed a crowd of people gathering around them. Suddenly, she heard a baby cry.

In a panic, she stirred.

Rachel? John whispered.

She’s coming round, she heard someone say.

John? She heard her weak and trembling voice utter his name.

Yes. I’m here.

She forced herself to sit up, not to look at him. Andrew? Where’s Andrew? Frantically, she searched the crowd.

He’s all right, Rachel. I have him, Mrs. Robertson assured her.

She followed the sounds of Andrew’s cries until she found him in the crowd. My baby. Oh John, how will I make you understand?

When she could bear it no longer, she slowly turned to look at … John? The words froze in her throat. The pain etched on his face was almost unbearable. Every fiber of her being wanted to reach out to him, hold him, and never leave his arms again, and yet she sat motionless, unable to speak. Only their eyes betrayed their turbulent emotions.

The silence stretched out and the crowd of curious townsfolk grew larger. Finally, John rose to his feet and dusted off his pants. He reached down, took hold of her hand, and helped her to stand. Come, Rachel. I’ll see you home.

She stood motionless, staring at the hand he still held. I shouldn’t be alone with him, she warned herself.

He stepped toward her. Rachel. His voice was soft, laced with sadness and pain. You should not be handling this wagon alone. Especially now. Let me see you home. Please.

Not daring to look at him again, she simply nodded. He helped her up onto the wagon seat then Mrs. Robertson handed young Andrew to her.

John walked to the opposite side and climbed up to sit beside her. With a quick snap of the reins, the wagon lurched into motion and silence settled over the crowd of onlookers.

He stopped long enough to tether his mount to the back of the wagon then climbed back up beside her. Snatching up the reins, he stared at his hands.

Which way? The words seemed to grate against his throat.

South on the river road. The old Thompson place. Her voice was barely audible, her eyes fastened to the road ahead. She couldn’t look at him.

Rachel watched the buildings disappear as the bulky Conestoga lumbered out of town. The road followed the Duck River for about half a mile before it veered to the southeast and meandered its way through an arch of tall trees that filtered out much of the sunlight. The forested hills rolled by and the landscape took on a gauzy, ethereal quality. But for the rhythmic plop of the mules as their hooves met the road and the rasping sound of the wagon wheels, there was such stillness. It was a calm that belied the disparate emotions roiling within her—love, longing, shock, disbelief, overwhelming happiness wrapped in overwhelming grief. Am I dreaming? She desperately wanted to touch him yet dared not.

The oppressive silence continued. Unable to deal with the magnitude of what was happening, she forced her thoughts to Andrew. She clutched him tightly and watched his eyes droop as the measured movement of the wagon rocked him gently to sleep. With the baby’s even breathing, she could no longer elude the nearness of … John. The unbelievable reality of him hit her with such force she once again felt faint. She closed her eyes, compelling the waves of panic to subside.

Finally, she allowed herself to look at his hands, those strong, powerful hands. The hands she’d dreamed of all these months, the hands she’d longed to feel once more. They gripped the reins so tightly they trembled. She suppressed an almost overpowering urge to cover them with her own, to gently soothe the tension from them.

They crested the top of a hill. Ahead, the road sloped down to the ford at Thompson Creek. Discreetly, she glanced at his face. His jaw was clinched; his brow, creased by deep furrows. It was a face full of anguish. Yet it was the same face she had known and loved. It is him. With her sudden ragged intake of breath, he turned to her. His eyes met hers and registered a silent understanding.

John slowly pulled the wagon off the road and stopped under a canopy of towering beech trees. As he climbed down and walked around to her side, Rachel laid the sleeping baby in the basket and gently secured the restraining straps. John reached up and took hold of her hands. As he lowered her from the wagon and into his arms their walled up emotions erupted.

Oh John, it is you. It really is you. You’re alive. You’re alive. She cried as his arms encircled her. She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, all the while running her hands over his body trying to convince herself he was real.

He answered with a kiss that threatened to consume them both. When finally they broke apart, he cupped the back of her head with his hand and pulled her to him. Oh, Rachel. I’ve missed you so. I promised you I wouldn’t die. I promised you I’d come back.

Hurt, stained with anger, welled up in her. She hammered her fists against his chest as she tried to push away, but he held her fast. If you missed me so much then where have you been? Why didn’t you come home? It’s nearly three years. They kept telling me you were dead. I didn’t want to hear it, I didn’t want to believe it, tried not to believe it, but all this time. Why did you stay away so long?

His face twisted with remembered pain. I was hurt. I did almost die.

A knot of panic lodged in her throat with the sudden realization that she might really have lost him. Her hands moved up to cup his chin and her thumbs followed the line of his jaw. Her eyes traced the strong features of his face so beautifully made and so achingly familiar—the wide mouth, the deep-set eyes, the high forehead. Only then did she see the tangle of scars at his temple. With trembling fingers, she brushed dark waves of hair aside and lightly traced the knotted mass.

If only I’d known, she said as her arms encircled his neck and she pressed her face into his shoulder. I would have found a way to come to you.

Bewildered, he pulled back. But I wrote to you. Letters, dozens of letters. I told you what happened. I told you I was coming back.

Tiny lines of confusion creased the corners of her eyes. Letters? I never got any letters.

He cradled her face with his hands. Rachel, you must believe me. You know I would never have stayed away this long without writing. I would never have left you to suffer without trying to get word to you.

But where are they? I never got them. If I had, you know I would have waited. I would have waited forever if I’d thought you were still alive.

Anger shadowed his face. He snatched his hands away and stepped back. Forever.

She flinched at the harshness of his voice.

It certainly didn’t take you long to get over me. How long did you wait for me before you married Luke Thompson? Young Andrew is older than a mere infant. You couldn’t have waited too long.

She reached for him. John, please.

No. He retreated from her touch. Tell me, he demanded. How long did you wait?

She lowered her eyes. As long as I could.

As long as you could. His voice grew louder with each angry word. Did I mean so little to you that you could so easily give yourself to another man?

She sagged to her knees. You know I could never love anyone but you.

His body towered over her. Then why did you marry him?

How could she make him understand? It was so clear to her. Love, she uttered quietly, had nothing to do with it. When she looked up into his face, she realized just how deeply she had hurt him. She wrapped her hands around his clenched fists. "Don’t you see? I didn’t feel anything. Without you, it didn’t matter anymore. Luke wanted to marry me. Papa wanted me to marry Luke. Mama said it was a good match. I knew I would never love anyone but you, and you were dead so why should I not do what they wanted me to do. What I wanted no longer existed."

A moan escaped him as he dropped to his knees and drew her into his arms.

30603.png

John took her hand and guided them a short distance through the trees.

Looking over her shoulder, Rachel gauged the distance from Andrew. No farther, John. I mustn’t get too far away.

He nodded then led her toward an immense oak poised at the top of the rise. Pulling her down to sit by his side, he leaned back against its trunk and gathered her into his arms.

In silence, they gazed out at the golden-hued vista. In the distance, the Duck River threaded its way through the tree-covered hills just before it tumbled out onto the broad, grassy valley of the Central Basin. This peaceful vision stretched out before them, and she grasped at the image—desperate for some mooring that would calm her wildly swaying emotions.

Suddenly, as if to fan their turmoil once more, a gaggle of geese dropped from the sky in a great swooshing swirl and descended toward the river below. Their flapping wings and loud trumpeting calls stirred the air around them. Rachel shuddered then closed her eyes. In reassurance, she placed her splayed fingers on the solid wall of his chest. He is real. He’s not a dream, her hands confirmed.

In answer to her touch, John tightened the circle of his arms. Rachel, I want you to come away with me.

She trembled from the flood of sensations. Hardly more than an hour ago, she would have given anything for just one more moment with him. Yet now, faced with the physical reality of him she was paralyzed with conflict and uncertainty. Now the ache she had carried with her these past three years had been replaced by a cold, hard knot of fear—fear of losing him yet again.

As if reading her thoughts, John voiced her fears. How can I give you up?

Oh, my love. Do you think I want to give you up? But I don’t know what to do.

Come away with me. I have more than a thousand acres of land in Texas. A cabin waiting for us. We can leave now. Build a new life far away from here.

If only it could be so. She wanted it to be so, but … She forced herself to push back from him, averting her eyes so as not to see the pain she knew would be there when she said what she must say. John, I can’t just leave. I’m married to Luke.

He grasped her arms. You can’t stay married to him when it’s me you love.

The tears spilled over as she looked down at the wagon and the sleeping baby. But Andrew. I can’t leave my baby.

With his fingers following the curve of her chin, John turned her face toward his. Slowly he slid his hand around to cup her neck then drew her toward him until her forehead rested against his. Ah Rachel, I would never ask you to leave Andrew. He is part of you and I will come to love him as if he were mine.

She leaned back. She had to see his eyes then she would know what to believe.

His face was awash with tenderness. I love you. We belong together. You know that, he whispered on her lips.

She was lost. Lost in the taste of him, the feel of him, her love for him. The kiss deepened, and he turned her in his arms until her breasts were pressed against him. A soft moan welled up in him as his hand grazed the curve of her waist.

When his hand slid down to caress her hip, censure overwhelmed her passion. She forced herself to turn away. No, John. Stop. I can’t do this.

Trembling hands clutched at her. Rachel, I love you. I told you I would come back for you and I have.

She pulled back from him. Forcing herself to stand, she staggered toward the edge of the rise. John, please. I don’t know what to do. I have to think, she pleaded, trying desperately to regain some measure of control.

An agonizing groan escaped from within him as he pressed his clenched fists against his forehead. I have lost you, haven’t I?

His words cut through her and she went to him. Kneeling beside him, she took hold of his fists and pulled them to her. Gently, she kissed each one. You haven’t lost me. It’s you I’ve always loved. But I took a vow. Luke is my husband. We have a child. I cannot just leave. I must have time to think, to decide what to do. Please, John. I need time.

He pulled his fists from her grasp. A spate of emotions played across his face as he stared out across the valley. Finally, he released a long sigh. Yes. You are right. You must have time, he said, shoving his fingers through his hair.

I was going to stay here with you for a while before I went to Roane County to see my family, but … He swallowed hard. Things being what they are, I think it’s best if I go now. This will give you the time you need. He grasped her hands and pulled them to his lips. But know that I love you and I will be back. And when I return we will decide what to do. He placed her hands over his heart. I promise you, I will be back in ten days. Meet me, ten days from today. Noon. Our place in the meadow, by the creek. We’ll have a picnic lunch, the way we used to, then we will decide.

Her throat constricted at the thought of his leaving again—of not seeing him for ten days.

The silence stretched out and his face registered concern. Rachel?

She could never resist the pull of his eyes. Yes. I’ll be there, she whispered.

In silence, they walked to the wagon. I’ll go the rest of the way by myself.

But you shouldn’t be …

John, please, she pressed her fingertips to his lips to