“Why would anyone let me in their home? I’m a stranger.”
“Now that’s easy. Just let them know you’re a Wilson. Tell them you’re my kin and you’ve come to do work for me. Once they know we’re related, they’ll give you the shirt off their backs, and most only have one shirt to speak of.”
Lucy’s father rarely spoke of his childhood, but the stories he told described a very foreign place inhabited by jelly-making hillbillies. “Father only gave me permission”—she paused as she saw Cora cringe at that word—“to come to Morehead because you told him you needed a stenographer.”
“And I do.”
Lucy was having serious doubts. This job wasn’t what she had expected. “But, Cora,” she pleaded, feeling a little teary, “Father would be outraged if he thought I was riding into those hills alone.”
Cora peered at Lucy. “Your father always overprotected you. He’s not here to make decisions for you. You’re a grown woman, Lucy.”
Lucy felt like a mouse cornered by a cat. There was no way out and it wasn’t going to end well. “I’m not . . . very brave.”
“You’re stronger than you think. Every woman is, even if she doesn’t know it.”
Cora sounded so final that Lucy felt a growing sense of desperation. “But I . . .”
Palms on her desktop, Cora leaned forward, like a judge delivering the verdict. “Lucille Wilson, this is your chance. To release you from the terrible burden of losing Charlotte.”
Lucy looked down at the tips of her boots. Would she ever be free of that burden?
“Oh dear girl,” Cora said, her voice growing tender. “After Charlotte went missing, I saw you change from a happy child, full of curiosity and adventure, into a shell of a girl buried under an enormous weight. It was as if the sun was hidden behind a cloud. You lost interest in everything, as though the very idea of curiosity about life belonged only to the past. I hoped that with time, you’d return to your old self, but when I saw you recently at your father’s wedding, I thought my heart was going to break. It must be so hard to breathe with a heavy stone on one’s chest.” Cora let out a weary sigh. “It’s time, dear girl. High time to rejoin the living.”
Lucy kept her head down, blinking back tears. She hated being the object of pity. “I admit,” she said softly, “that a change might be needed.”
“That’s my girl!”
She chanced a look at Cora and saw a big smile wreath her face.
“This is the time to discover just how brave you really are.” Cora clapped her hands, as if the matter was settled. “Off to the livery.”
Lucy’s head snapped up. “I can’t. I just . . . can’t go up in those hills. Not alone. And especially not on a horse. I’ve never had much of a sense of direction.”
“That’s understandable. Your father never gave you a chance to think for yourself.”
Lucy swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I just can’t do it alone.”
Cora stared at Lucy for a long while, then dropped her pen, jumped up, and knocked on the window. She waved to someone down below, beckoning whoever it was to come to her office. She turned back to Lucy with a smile. “I do believe I’ve found you a suitable chaperone.”
Not two minutes later, a skinny barefoot teenaged boy dressed in bib overalls stood at the open door. “You needing somethin’, Miss Cora?”
“Finley James, why aren’t you in school this morning?”
“Teacher’s ailin’ agen.”
Cora frowned. “You telling the truth?”
“Cross my heart.” He made a big X over his chest. “But, Miss Cora, I do believe Miss Norah is playin’ possum. She only gits sick on days when the postman comes through these parts. I think she’s sweet on him.”
“Now you’re twisting the yarn.”
“I ain’t lying. I wouldn’ nary tell a lie.”
“Don’t say ain’t. Say isn’t.” Under her breath, Cora muttered, “Norah is absent far too often.” She looked straight at Finley James. “In the meantime, how’d you like to earn two bits?”
His eyes brightened. “You need me to fetch and carry agen?”
“Better than that. I need you to take Miss Lucy to a few cabins in Deerlick Hollow. She’s got some letters to read and ones to write.” She pointed to Lucy, whom the boy had yet to notice. When he turned to see her, he startled, staring wide-eyed and openmouthed.
“Stop gawking, Finley James.”
He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it again. “Pardon me for saying, Miss Cora, but she don’t look like she’d last long on a mount. Even on Jenny.”
“Yes! My sentiments exactly,” Lucy said. “Who’s Jenny?”
They ignored her. “You need to stay with her, Finley James, and bring her back in one piece. Just head to Mollie’s and Sally Ann’s and back down to town.” Cora felt the thick envelope. “Perhaps a few more, if time allows. Lucy just needs a little help learning the trails. She’ll get a nose for it soon enough.”
Lucy fanned herself a little more vigorously. She would never get a nose for this.
“In fact, Finley James, you can be even more than a trail guide. Lucy is new to our ways. Teach her about the mountain people. Interpret for her.”
“Interpret?” Lucy said. “Don’t they speak English?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Finley James stroked his unwhiskered chin. “All that for jest two little tiny bits?”
Eyes twinkling in amusement, Cora released a longsuffering sigh. “Fine. Four bits.”
“Hmm, that does shed a new light on the matter.” He tapped his chin, a gesture that made him look much older than his years. “But I’ll need new bullets in m’gun. That’ll cost y’ some.”
Lucy’s eyes went wide. “Gun? Whatever for?”
As if quoting someone, he said, “There ain’t nothing more important to a Rowan County man than his gun.”
“But . . . ,” Lucy looked to her cousin, “what does he need a gun for?”
Once again, she was ignored. Cora’s eyes were fastened on the boy’s. “No need for bullets. There will be an extra two bits if you get her back to town in one piece. So, then, do we have a deal?”
Finley James stuck his hand out to shake Cora’s. “I’m your man,” he answered without another moment’s hesitation.
And with that, the bargain was sealed, and Lucy Wilson’s new life in Rowan County began.
Two
NOW AND AGAIN, Finley James would lean back in his saddle to see how Miss Lucy was faring on ol’ Jenny. His heart beat a little faster each time he got another look at her. There was something entirely different about this fine city lady than any other female he’d knowed. Something sweet and shy. Something refined.
He hoped Miss Cora knew what she was doing when she brung her here. Miss Lucy sat on the oldest, gentlest pony in all Kentucky, but she was shaking in her fancy shiny black boots and her eyes looked all glittery, like she was trying hard not to cry. It took every ounce of Fin’s self-control not to double over in laughter as she stood on the mounting block and tried to climb up on Jenny. Three tries—first as a side saddle, which only tangled her up—then she finally figured out it was best to hitch up her skirts a wee bit and swing a leg over the pony’s back.