Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3) by Nanette Kinslow Page B

it to dry inside the barn. Out on the line in the yard not only her Da would see it, but also anyone who may be looking for the man. Colleen sat beside him again and wondered what his name might be.
          There was very little money in his jacket, and she decided that he had likely been robbed after he was shot. He had no other papers, only several postcards neatly tied with a narrow ribbon and none of them were addressed. Every picture was dreary, greys and whites. The postcards she admired in the shops were pretty and lacy but these were rather depressing, she thought.
          The kitten climbed into her lap and she stroked it absently and began speaking her thoughts aloud.
          “Who are you?” she asked, expecting no response. “I wish I could help you more, but I don’t know what to do. If I tell my father he will not want you here and if I take you to town whoever shot you might try to kill you again.
          “If you would just get better maybe you can tell me who you are. Is someone looking for you?” she continued, speaking softly.
     
          Mark heard a voice far away, as if from across a field. He could not make out what the voice was saying and he wondered if it was the angel again. The voice was sweet and gentle, like Rebecca’s had been that day she found him in the chest, but he knew it was not Rebecca’s voice. This one had an accent, but not like hers. He tried to speak to the voice, but his words come out all garbled. He struggled to speak slowly and clearly but could not and he surrendered to the ache in his head and slipped away into deep slumber.
          Colleen could see that he moved his lips slowly, but issued no sound. She waited, holding her breath, and listening intently, but soon he was quiet again and he seemed to rest a bit easier. She didn’t want to leave him alone and decided that maybe her speaking to him would be soothing. She pulled her book from her apron pocket and began to read softly from her collection of Louisa May Alcot t .
     
     
           After a time, she gathered his clothing and the pail and slipped out silently. In the morning the deliveries would have to be made and the cows milked. She would check on him first and then would be away most of the day. She was still not sure he would be alive any time that she came to see him.
     
     
          He did not stir at dawn when she visited, though at some point he gained some level of consciousness briefly. He found the water beside him and drank deeply before slipping back into the darkness of sleep.

 
     
    Chapter Seventeen
     
     
           T uesday morning arrived with yet another downpour. The dreariness that had begun at the week’s end showed promise only late on Friday night, but soon reverted again to dismal weather conditions. By late afternoon it was beginning to grow dark, the days short and damp.
     
          Benjamin Neilson stood in the doorway of the office and scowled. One day off without a word might be tolerated, but another without so much as a poor excuse was more difficult to swallow.
          “Sons of the rich,” he muttered under his breath. He decided that it was time to find and reprimand the boys. They’d done a fine job for a while, he thought, but only so much could be excused.
          He locked the office door and strode over to the boarding house, contemplating exactly how he might lecture the young men.
     
          Lillian Griffin pulled a cigarette from her apron as she slowly opened the door.
          “Good morning, Lil,” Ben greeted her in a friendly manner.
          The woman lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. She coughed hard and spit across the porch.
          “I wonder if you might wake up those boys I put up here. It seems they’ve decided they don’t care to show up for work anymore.”
          “They aren’t showing up here neither,” she cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen ‘um myself since