what lesson two would be like.
Her hands were shaking when she set the teacup on the counter by the sink. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself, but it was no use. She had to find him. Right then. It was nearlyâ¦urgent. This feeling she had. Urgency. Yes, that was it.
Madeline dried her hands quickly on the towel hanging beside the sink and then walked out the back door into the yard. She couldnât stop the twinge of disappointment to find it empty. She headed for the barn to take a look in there.
She peeked her head in the barn and the carriage house, but they were both empty. She sighed and then called herself a ninny for expecting another lesson in the same day.
Teague must have gone into town for supplies at the store. She had the overwhelming urge to find out more about him. He was a man with haunted eyes. She was curious about his ghosts.
Looking around like a guilty child, she slipped into the carriage house and tiptoed up the stairs. When she got up to the loft, she wasnât surprised to find it neat. The bed was made, and no clothes lay on the floor. Not that he had but one extra set to wear.
The clothes, which Eppie had scrubbed until she complained her shoulders hurt, were hanging on a hook on the wall. The only other possession in the room was a small bag on the floor under the cot. The mattress was stuffed with straw and was probably not the coziest thing to sleep on, and he was such a big man, his feet must have hung off the end.
A small mirror was hanging on a nail by the window. Next to it on the sill lay a razor, strop, and a bar of soap perched in a cup. The smell of sandalwood was faint but unmistakable. It was a manly scent that reminded her of Teague immediately. She tried not to stare at the small bag under the bed, but her eyes kept returning to it.
Donât look inside it.
But I want to.
An inner battle raged between her devil and her angel. In the end, she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, peering under at the small brown sack. It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, and there didnât seem to be a lot in it. He must have had it in his pants pocket when she found him with a noose around his neck.
Madeline watched as her hand reached out and picked up the bag, placing it on her lap. She stared at it for a minute or two before she reached in and felt for the contents. She touched something cold and metallic and pulled out a small picture frame.
In it was a much younger Teague standing beside a petite woman holding a baby. They stood in front of a small house on a flat prairie. Teague was smiling with his arm around this woman. His wife, more than likely. It seemed like it was a happy day. A long time ago, for sure. He not only looked young, but his eyes were young.
She stared into his eyes. There were no ghosts or shadows lurking in their depths. So whatever existed there now probably had to do with what had happened to this woman and child.
She set the picture frame on the cot beside her and reached into the bag again. This time, she found what felt like a stack of paper. She pulled out letters, tied in some tired-looking twine. There had to be forty letters, carefully held together so neatly. All addressed to Teague OâNeal in a womanâs flowery script. Madeline assumed it was the woman in the picture. They were postmarked from Missouri during the war and addressed to a Union Army camp. So he had fought for the Union, and he was from Missouri.
She didnât want to read the letters. They were too private to open. The letters joined the picture frame on the cot. Madeline reached in again and pulled out a small Bible. It was well worn and looked to have a bloodstain on the cover. She opened the cover and found an inscription that read: To my darling husband, Teague. Keep the faith and keep yourself safe. Love, Claire.
Claire. So that was the womanâs name. Very feminine and pretty. Madeline tried to squelch a spurt of jealousy. She had no
Her hands were shaking when she set the teacup on the counter by the sink. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself, but it was no use. She had to find him. Right then. It was nearlyâ¦urgent. This feeling she had. Urgency. Yes, that was it.
Madeline dried her hands quickly on the towel hanging beside the sink and then walked out the back door into the yard. She couldnât stop the twinge of disappointment to find it empty. She headed for the barn to take a look in there.
She peeked her head in the barn and the carriage house, but they were both empty. She sighed and then called herself a ninny for expecting another lesson in the same day.
Teague must have gone into town for supplies at the store. She had the overwhelming urge to find out more about him. He was a man with haunted eyes. She was curious about his ghosts.
Looking around like a guilty child, she slipped into the carriage house and tiptoed up the stairs. When she got up to the loft, she wasnât surprised to find it neat. The bed was made, and no clothes lay on the floor. Not that he had but one extra set to wear.
The clothes, which Eppie had scrubbed until she complained her shoulders hurt, were hanging on a hook on the wall. The only other possession in the room was a small bag on the floor under the cot. The mattress was stuffed with straw and was probably not the coziest thing to sleep on, and he was such a big man, his feet must have hung off the end.
A small mirror was hanging on a nail by the window. Next to it on the sill lay a razor, strop, and a bar of soap perched in a cup. The smell of sandalwood was faint but unmistakable. It was a manly scent that reminded her of Teague immediately. She tried not to stare at the small bag under the bed, but her eyes kept returning to it.
Donât look inside it.
But I want to.
An inner battle raged between her devil and her angel. In the end, she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, peering under at the small brown sack. It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, and there didnât seem to be a lot in it. He must have had it in his pants pocket when she found him with a noose around his neck.
Madeline watched as her hand reached out and picked up the bag, placing it on her lap. She stared at it for a minute or two before she reached in and felt for the contents. She touched something cold and metallic and pulled out a small picture frame.
In it was a much younger Teague standing beside a petite woman holding a baby. They stood in front of a small house on a flat prairie. Teague was smiling with his arm around this woman. His wife, more than likely. It seemed like it was a happy day. A long time ago, for sure. He not only looked young, but his eyes were young.
She stared into his eyes. There were no ghosts or shadows lurking in their depths. So whatever existed there now probably had to do with what had happened to this woman and child.
She set the picture frame on the cot beside her and reached into the bag again. This time, she found what felt like a stack of paper. She pulled out letters, tied in some tired-looking twine. There had to be forty letters, carefully held together so neatly. All addressed to Teague OâNeal in a womanâs flowery script. Madeline assumed it was the woman in the picture. They were postmarked from Missouri during the war and addressed to a Union Army camp. So he had fought for the Union, and he was from Missouri.
She didnât want to read the letters. They were too private to open. The letters joined the picture frame on the cot. Madeline reached in again and pulled out a small Bible. It was well worn and looked to have a bloodstain on the cover. She opened the cover and found an inscription that read: To my darling husband, Teague. Keep the faith and keep yourself safe. Love, Claire.
Claire. So that was the womanâs name. Very feminine and pretty. Madeline tried to squelch a spurt of jealousy. She had no
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