in it, especially when his grandfather sent his mother away.
He listened to his sister and Rachel chattering in the other room as though everything were normal. It was not. Guilt ate at him, just as Sarah knew it would. Even though his grandfather wanted nothing to do with him, he knew he would end up at Pinecrest. As much as he wished he could turn his back on his grandfather, he could not.
The walls of his cabin pressed in on him. He strode to the door and stepped outside. To the left, near the stream and down the slope, Maddy labored to wash the clothes. Sarah’s driver strolled toward Rachel’s maid and spoke to her. Maddy smiled up at Moses, a husky, muscular black man in his late thirties who had been working for the McNeal family most of his life. Trustworthy and protective of Sarah. His brother-in-law would not let her gallivant all over the countryside without Moses. But knowing his sister, she probably did not inform John that she had left Charleston.
Stubborn women. That described his sister—and Rachel.
The sun beat down upon Nathan as he rode toward Pinecrest. Nearing his childhood home, he spurred his horse faster. He did not want to be away from Rachel, Faith, and Maddy too long. They were safe on his land, next to Liberty Hall, because no one would cross John McNeal, but Nathan hated leaving them alone. When Sarah had invited Rachel to stay at Liberty Hall while he was gone, he had tried to persuade her to go, but she had insisted on staying where she was and practicing what he had taught her. He hoped not to be gone long—certainly not overnight. He wasn’t even sure his grandfather would let him inside.
The large, two-story house loomed before him. He paused at the edge of the forest that surrounded his childhood home. Sunlight made the bricks seem as though they were on fire. The veranda, with tall white columns standing sentinel, ran the length of the front of the house. A once lush garden on the left remained a jungle because only his mother had kept it up. When she had left and gone back to her family in England five years before, his grandfather had ignored the myriad flowers as he had refused to mention Nathan’s mother’s name. That was the beginning of the end of his relationship with his grandfather.
Determinedly shutting the lid on his memories, Nathan prodded his horse forward. Dread encased him in a fine sheen of sweat. When he mounted the steps to the front door, he almost spun on his boot heel and left. But he had ridden for over an hour to appease his sister and to reassure her—no, himself—that his grandfather was as healthy as he had always been.
Patrick opened the door before Nathan had a chance to knock. “I saw you coming from the bedchamber window upstairs.”
“His room?”
“Yes, I haven’t wanted to leave his side.”
Nathan studied his younger brother’s unshaven face. His brown eyes were dull, his blond hair a mess, as if he had run his hand through it again and again. “You are worried?”
Patrick nodded. “He hasn’t eaten in days. He has a fever. He sleeps most of the time. Grandfather is usually up with the sun and does not go to bed until well after the sun has gone down.”
“Has he seen a doctor?”
“Dr. Ellsworth came the other day and bled him. Grandfather has gotten worse since the doctor left. He has little strength even to talk when he is awake. I don’t want that quack seeing him again.”
“I will see what I can do, but I may not be able to help him. He is seventy-five years old.” It wasn’t until he said his grandfather’s age out loud that Nathan realized how old he really was. Grandfather had always been so invincible to Nathan. The thought that he wasn’t did not settle well with him. It would be so much easier if he could hate the old man—less painful. But snippets of his past always intruded. The time Grandfather taught him how to fish. Or the first time he rode with Grandfather across Pinecrest land.
“Please take a
He listened to his sister and Rachel chattering in the other room as though everything were normal. It was not. Guilt ate at him, just as Sarah knew it would. Even though his grandfather wanted nothing to do with him, he knew he would end up at Pinecrest. As much as he wished he could turn his back on his grandfather, he could not.
The walls of his cabin pressed in on him. He strode to the door and stepped outside. To the left, near the stream and down the slope, Maddy labored to wash the clothes. Sarah’s driver strolled toward Rachel’s maid and spoke to her. Maddy smiled up at Moses, a husky, muscular black man in his late thirties who had been working for the McNeal family most of his life. Trustworthy and protective of Sarah. His brother-in-law would not let her gallivant all over the countryside without Moses. But knowing his sister, she probably did not inform John that she had left Charleston.
Stubborn women. That described his sister—and Rachel.
The sun beat down upon Nathan as he rode toward Pinecrest. Nearing his childhood home, he spurred his horse faster. He did not want to be away from Rachel, Faith, and Maddy too long. They were safe on his land, next to Liberty Hall, because no one would cross John McNeal, but Nathan hated leaving them alone. When Sarah had invited Rachel to stay at Liberty Hall while he was gone, he had tried to persuade her to go, but she had insisted on staying where she was and practicing what he had taught her. He hoped not to be gone long—certainly not overnight. He wasn’t even sure his grandfather would let him inside.
The large, two-story house loomed before him. He paused at the edge of the forest that surrounded his childhood home. Sunlight made the bricks seem as though they were on fire. The veranda, with tall white columns standing sentinel, ran the length of the front of the house. A once lush garden on the left remained a jungle because only his mother had kept it up. When she had left and gone back to her family in England five years before, his grandfather had ignored the myriad flowers as he had refused to mention Nathan’s mother’s name. That was the beginning of the end of his relationship with his grandfather.
Determinedly shutting the lid on his memories, Nathan prodded his horse forward. Dread encased him in a fine sheen of sweat. When he mounted the steps to the front door, he almost spun on his boot heel and left. But he had ridden for over an hour to appease his sister and to reassure her—no, himself—that his grandfather was as healthy as he had always been.
Patrick opened the door before Nathan had a chance to knock. “I saw you coming from the bedchamber window upstairs.”
“His room?”
“Yes, I haven’t wanted to leave his side.”
Nathan studied his younger brother’s unshaven face. His brown eyes were dull, his blond hair a mess, as if he had run his hand through it again and again. “You are worried?”
Patrick nodded. “He hasn’t eaten in days. He has a fever. He sleeps most of the time. Grandfather is usually up with the sun and does not go to bed until well after the sun has gone down.”
“Has he seen a doctor?”
“Dr. Ellsworth came the other day and bled him. Grandfather has gotten worse since the doctor left. He has little strength even to talk when he is awake. I don’t want that quack seeing him again.”
“I will see what I can do, but I may not be able to help him. He is seventy-five years old.” It wasn’t until he said his grandfather’s age out loud that Nathan realized how old he really was. Grandfather had always been so invincible to Nathan. The thought that he wasn’t did not settle well with him. It would be so much easier if he could hate the old man—less painful. But snippets of his past always intruded. The time Grandfather taught him how to fish. Or the first time he rode with Grandfather across Pinecrest land.
“Please take a
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