Follansbee Pond Secrets (eBook)

Barbara Delaney (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2019 | 1. Auflage
200 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-5439-7357-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Follansbee Pond Secrets is a story filled with action, romance and intrigue, casting well-known historical figures and everyday mountain folk in the midst of momentous events affecting the mid-19th century Adirondacks, notably the famous Philosophers Camp at Follansbee Pond in 1858. A story seen through the eyes of a backcountry woman, a crack shot with a sharp mind,

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On an August day in 1858, Myrna Duffney, hunting guide and schoolmarm, leads an expedition of famous Boston intellectuals to an encampment on Follansbee Pond in the Adirondacks, later dubbed the 'Philosophers Camp'. The story follows Myrna's exploits and adventures from North Elba to Boston. Along the way, she crosses paths with abolitionists, suffragists and a motley assortment of other characters. There is an explosion of deep discovery, wild intrigue and passionate love relationships in the air, with Myrna in the thick of it.

Textauszug

- CHAPTER 1 -

Stillman’s Visit 1857

Like all good stories, this one begins, one day…It was a morning Myrna would always remember.

At sunrise a crimson glow lit the softly curdled clouds. Myrna stopped, entranced, in the doorway. Before she’d even finished a cup of coffee, the fullness of colors faded—the soft edges dissipated. She wished the image had lasted longer. Myrna quietly walked to the barn and mounted her horse, Star. Most of the children would already be in the classroom by the time she arrived at the Brown settlement, where she taught reading and arithmetic.

Myrna stayed at the Browns’ later than she meant that afternoon—but she and Belle-Liz needed to grade the students’ arithmetic lessons…and then they’d got to chatting. Now she’d have to ride her horse hard to make time before the rain descended. Already the wind was a gale.

There was a deep shush overhead before the sky blotted dark. Myrna glanced upward and dismounted: passenger pigeons. She took aim and fired several times. Four spiraled and hit the ground. It was not easy to make such accurate, delicate shots, she thought. She carefully laid the warm soft birds in her pack on top of cut grasses. She would hurry home now to avoid the certain storm.

Meanwhile, at the Duffney homestead, Sam Duffney stepped out on the porch looking west to the mountain. Were those gun shots? No matter. The sky had already turned from grey to clotted purple, thunder rang deep to the ear bones. Unless Bill Stillman was well on his way, he wouldn’t be likely to come at all. A storm would break within the half-hour, Sam thought, closing the outside door. And then there was the matter of Myrna, too. But she was sensible about weather, and would likely hunker down at the Browns’ until the worst had passed.

Once back inside, he stoked the fire in anticipation of a drop in temperature. Though still August, evenings turned chilly in the Adirondacks—winter was a challenge.

Sam first met Bill Stillman over a year ago. Bill had hired him to guide and carry the necessities when he took a notion to camp out for a number of days. It was a task Sam was happy to oblige. Later, after Stillman returned to his home in Boston, he continued to correspond about a major camping venture to Follansbee Pond in the Adirondacks that he was trying to muster. The idea was that Sam would guide an expedition for Bill and some of his Boston friends from Keeseville on Lake Champlain into the wild forest beyond the Saranac’s to Follansbee Pond. The potential clients were an illustrious group of accomplished writers, scientists and academics, most of them famous beyond their Boston milieu.

Sam Duffney knew Stillman to be a fit, energetic fellow with a genuine love of the woods. He did not know about the fitness of the others. It would be a demanding trip from Boston to their final destination on Follansbee Pond. Hard to say, but Bill’s enthusiasm might sway a bunch of Bostonians to travel as far as the Adirondacks. This time around, it seemed Bill was serious about spending a week scouting for next year’s proposed encampment at Follansbee Pond.

William Stillman originally came to the Adirondacks to paint because he liked the mountain scenery. And he has continued to spend summers traipsing through the woods around Saranac Lake with his paints and easel strapped to his pack. He isn’t the only one who fancies painting in the woods; there are other artists who travel to Keene Valley to do likewise.

The first time Sam met Bill Stillman he was not overly impressed with the man, thinking he was a bit of a fop and too fond of fancy words. That, and being annoyed when Stillman had showed him some paintings of forest scenes that he hoped to sell for a good price—making it clear his pictures were far beyond Sam’s reach. Being a hunting guide, Sam was used to men from all walks of life, so he was quick to forgive the idiosyncrasies of others.

Late last summer, Stillman had stopped by the Duffney house several times in early evening. Sam figured he was either lonely or looking for a decent dinner, which his wife, Marion, was quick to offer. Gradually, after a number of visits, they had learned quite a bit about him, as he liked to ‘converse’—his word. And Stillman was curious, too. He may have gone on about himself, but he also had a genuine interest in how the Duffneys came to settle in the mountains—why they’d picked this particular place; where they’d met; if they were planning to stay—and so on.

Stillman did some domestic and foreign traveling and told interesting stories of places he’d been and people he’d met. On the evenings Bill visited, Sam’s wife, Marion, and daughter, Myrna, took to listening to him, too. They enjoyed hearing his anecdotes about exotic places.

Since the fire was now stoked and steady, Sam turned his attention to where Marion might be—the house seemed exceedingly quiet. When he saw she was in the side alcove reading a book, he let her be.

He had no sooner settled in the parlor by the fire with his feet up on an ottoman, when he heard clattering at the back door to the kitchen. The door slammed to the wall in the wind, and the wet chill of the rain reached to rustle the fire on the hearth. It was Myrna, of course.

“Come here and see what I’ve shot for dinner!” Sam obliged her. Myrna held up a freshly skinned clutch of passenger pigeons. “I caught the tail of a huge flock on my way home. There were so many, that for a moment I thought the storm had descended to capture me—such was the darkness and sound over my head. Their wings and cries made a terrific roar. The birds were so thick I could easily have shot a dozen! It seemed best to take only four today.”

Marion came out from reading, her finger still holding the page place. “They’ll make a tasty meal for tonight,” she said. Then, frowning, she noted that Myrna was a muddy, wet, disheveled mess.

“For God’s sakes! Myrna, please go wash-up and brush your hair before dinner—and put on a fresh dress. We’re expecting Bill Stillman tonight, if the storm doesn’t hamper his trip.”

Myrna, for her part, felt angry at Marion’s dressing down. She gave her an insolent stare, but held back her response. Stomping upstairs, she once again felt frustrated with her living situation.

Marion was habitually annoyed with Myrna’s woods-woman ways. She caught Sam’s eye and shook her head in weary exasperation. Her reading had been interrupted. There wouldn’t be any point in continuing with the book now—she placed a proper marker at her page and set it down. Marion thought The Deerslayer by Cooper was a good story, so far— no point rushing through it, anyway. She pulled the small, blue, cushioned rocker next to Sam’s chair by the fire and took his hand.

Sam didn’t like getting between Marion and Myrna, but he sensed a need to smooth the friction between mother and daughter. He spoke hesitantly, “You know, Myrna looks very uncomfortable when you address her that way.”

“What…I should let her walk around here like a backwoods tramp?”

“No…I’m just saying that when George was her age you weren’t so quick to be critical.”

Marion bristled. “That’s not true, or fair! And furthermore, I’d thought when I had a daughter she’d grow up to be more of a lady, not some…well, warrior in the woods!” Marion drew a deep breath, chin quivering. Then after a calming pause said,

“No, you’re right. She’s doing fine. I hear she’s a good teacher at the Brown settlement school. Mary Brown mentioned how pleased she and the North Elba tenants are with her in the classroom. I guess it’s her wild, carefree side that bothers me. No, that’s not it,” she amended “…the practical side of me wants to see her fit in, not be an outcast—to be courted by a suitable fellow. Is that so much to ask?”

Sam looked perplexed. “Marion, all I was saying is we should remember Myrna has her own ideas. That’s it—period.”

After the brief squabble they were pleased to resume sitting companionably, watching the flames as the rain continued to fling its might rhythmically on the roof above.

Sam understood that Marion wished Myrna might marry a good prospect someday. The problem being that there weren’t many suitable prospects, and Myrna wasn’t interested in those available—she’d shown no interest at all. Sam thought of Myrna as an attractive woman, but Marion said he should be realistic. Truly, she looked a bit owlish with her close-set eyes and thin hawkish nose, but her blue eyes were direct and sharp. Also she had a quick smile and an abundance of brown curls—and then there were the distinctive Duffney cheekbones.

Marion says Myrna might be called handsome, but never pretty. Sam thinks that’s harsh sounding. Well, true, she doesn’t fuss over her appearance or dress like her mother. And in fairness, Marion’s fine features and comely figure set her apart. Marion is undeniably pretty. But in her own way, Myrna’s lithe slimness and chiseled features are attractive. Besides, at some point you’ve got to stop trying to...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 7.6.2019
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• ISBN-10: 1-5439-7357-4 / 1543973574
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5439-7357-0 / 9781543973570