Prologue
Bayside, North Carolina 1849
The cool breeze caressed Linda Harper’s skin, relieving it of the kitchen’s heat. Instead of being relieved, she shivered, her eyes darting to the window as a frown marred her smooth brow for a moment.
“Silliness,” she whispered into the wind as if it would change anything.
With a shake of her head, she focused on the gentle wind as it brought the scent of the sea, an ever-present mainstay even as far from the coast as the ranch was. She took a moment to breathe it in, to appreciate how it added to the tranquility of the sunlit day.
Shouldn’t she be enjoying it instead of the dark clawing sensation gnawing at the pit of her stomach? The other time she had felt like this…no, she would not think about it. Those memories were best buried in the past.
With another calming breath, she concentrated on what was at hand. The kitchen’s rustic charm contrasted nicely with the quotidian yet wild beauty of the rolling land outside. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. She glanced out the window again to where the sun cast a golden glow over the sprawling fields of their modest ranch.
A smile graced her lips, her striking green eyes taking in what she could see of the land her husband lavished so much care upon. Frank would soon be coming in for lunch, his rugged face wreathed in that smile that crinkled the corners of his clear blue gaze. She could almost hear his laughter, a sound that always brought warmth to her heart.
Just the thought of him lifted the strange mood she was in and brought a warm glow to her heart. From the moment she met him, there had never been another man for her. Linda was sixteen at the time, with Frank fifteen years her senior. She laughed as she remembered the lengths she had gone through to draw his attention.
She had thought of herself as a woman, raising her younger brother and running their household. Nick, their older brother, was already out in the world working to send them money. So there was no one there to argue against her desire to marry Frank. Looking back, she remembered how untidy her chestnut curls had regularly been, how she had been all skin and bones. Not that she was any curvier now, but she had matured into a lovely trimness since then.
Her eyes fell onto the fields, a testament to Frank’s hard work and dedication. Each row of crops stood tall and healthy, a reflection of his meticulous attention and love for the land. Linda admired the way he poured his soul into the ranch, transforming it into a thriving oasis.
As she continued to set the table, she thought about the life they had built together. It hadn’t always been easy; the people of Bayside had looked askance at them when, at the young age of eighteen, she had married him. Most had called him shameful, but she and Frank hadn’t minded them. Through it all, moments like these made it worthwhile. The simple pleasures of a shared meal, the comfort of each other’s company, and the beauty of their surroundings were treasures she held dear.
Their afternoons were almost always the same. The sound of the back door opening would signal Frank’s arrival. He would step into the kitchen, his presence filling the room with a sense of calm and strength. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he would say, his voice warm and familiar.
“Hello yourself, good sir,” Linda would reply, her smile wide and full of the love that had never faded in all their twelve years together. “Lunch is almost ready.”
Frank invariably crossed the room to wrap her in a gentle embrace, his hands rough from work but his touch tender. “It smells amazing,” he would say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t wait to dig in.”
Opening eyes she hadn’t realized were closed, her smile widened as her hand went into one of the pockets in her apron. Her fingers closed around the flower he had given her just that morning. He knew she loved the scent of the lavender and always made sure she had a fresh one in her apron pocket.
Linda’s apron was a cherished piece, a gift passed down from her grandmother. It was made of sturdy, cream-colored linen, with delicate embroidery along the edges. The intricate patterns depicted scenes of the sea—waves crashing against rocks, seagulls soaring in the sky, and tiny sailboats bobbing on the water. Each stitch told a story, a testament to her grandmother’s skill and love.
The apron had deep pockets, perfect for holding small kitchen tools and the wildflower. Despite its age, the fabric was soft and comforting. As Linda tidied the apron, she felt a sense of continuity and tradition. A grounding she was surprised to desperately need just then.
As she set the last plate on the table, her mind wandered to the stories her mother used to tell about the sea. Linda smiled, feeling a pang of nostalgia. She couldn’t imagine a life without the sea’s whisper in the background, even if it was just a distant echo here.
Looking at the clock, though, Linda realized her husband was running a little late. That wasn’t at all like him. That cold touch of dread slithered its fingers down her back again. Shaking it off, she busied herself with a few things about the kitchen. Yet now, the ticking of the clock seemed to be akin to the sound of a hammer driving nails into her anxious thoughts.
She wiped her hands on her apron, glancing out the window toward the sprawling fields. There was no sign of her husband riding back from the pasture.
“Maybe he stopped to check on the cattle,” she murmured to herself, trying to rationalize his delay. Yet the thought did little to quell the knot tightening in her stomach. Linda moved to the window, peering out at the horizon. Dust kicked up in the distance could signal a rider, but all she saw were the grazing horses, peaceful and unaware of her mounting concern.
She turned back to the kitchen, glancing at the clock again. The tick-tock seemed to mock her with each passing second. Setting down the spoon she had been stirring with, she decided she couldn’t just wait any longer.
Maybe she was wrong to worry, but she had been complacent before, thinking that misfortune would never visit her life. That lesson had dealt its harsh truths with a swiftness unlike anything she had ever experienced before and, thankfully, never since. Unlike the beauty of this day, that far-off day had been violent with the power of the storm. It had raged through the night, tearing at the barn and sending rain crashing against the windows like a thousand angry fists. Linda shuddered at the memory. The wind had howled like a wounded animal, and her heart had raced with a primal fear as she clung to her brother, praying for the storm to pass.
She had lost her family that night. Her mother and father were swept away in the flood-waters. Leaving her to care for her brother when she herself still needed to be looked after and guided. The grief of that loss had etched itself into her heart, a constant reminder that life was fragile, easily undone by nature’s wrath. Since then, she had vowed never to take a moment for granted, yet here she was, wrapped in worry again.
Pulling on her sun hat, she stepped outside, the warm air wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. The ranch was alive with the sounds of nature—birds chirping, the distant mooing of cattle—but all she could hear was the hollow echo of her husband’s absence.
With determination, she made her way toward the barn, her heart pounding with each step. “Maybe he just lost track of time,” she reassured herself, but the words felt weak as they left her lips.
Placing her hand over her heart to steady it, she looked up to heaven. “Please, God, let him be safe. I cannot survive another loss,” she murmured the quick prayer.
As she neared the barn, she caught sight of something—there, by the fence, lay his hat, brim turned up, as if he had simply set it down for a moment. Her breath hitched. “Frank?” she called out, her voice steady but laced with urgency.
No answer. The silence stretched around her, thick and suffocating. She stepped closer to the hat, kneeling in the dirt, and suddenly the world felt heavier, shadows creeping into her thoughts. What could have happened?
As she lifted the hat, she remembered that he had told her he would be fixing the mill that day. Relief washed over her as she realized she had been worrying for nothing. He must have simply lost track of time. Still, with the echo of the night she had lost her parents still haunting her, she could not be assured until she saw him. If he had lost track of time, she would simply tease him into coming back with her.
Rushing back into the kitchen, she took the stew off the stove and banked the fire within. Looking around to ensure there would be nothing to endanger the house without her attention, she rushed back into the barn.
Linda grew up around horses and she quickly saddled up her trusted mare, Daisy. The familiar motions of tightening the girth and adjusting the bridle calmed her racing heart. With a final glance back at the house, she mounted and set off toward the mill, urging Daisy into a brisk trot.
The path to the mill wound through the tall grass, the smattering of clouds casting dappled shadows on the ground. As she rode, the rhythmic clip-clop of Daisy’s hooves echoed in her ears, grounding her thoughts. Linda focused on the landscape, the beauty of her ranch providing a stark contrast to the anxiety that had gripped her moments earlier.
But as she neared the mill, a feeling of unease returned. The air felt different here, charged with an energy that set her senses on edge. The old wooden structure loomed ahead, its wheel turning slowly, but there was no sign of Frank.
“Frank!” she called out, her voice carrying over the gentle rush of water against the mill’s wheel.
No answer. Just the sound of the mill creaking and the distant rustling of leaves. She dismounted and tethered Daisy to a post, her heart pounding as she approached the entrance. She looked to the heavens, beseeching God to let her find Frank safe.
Inside, the mill was dim, the only light filtering through gaps in the wood. The familiar scent of grain filled the air, but the absence of Frank’s presence weighed heavily on her.
“Frank!” she called again, a note of worry creeping into her voice. Silence greeted her call and her anxiety rose even more. “Where are you? You said you’d be fixing the… windmill.” She finished her sentence and then laughed. “Linda, you old fool, he said he’d be at the windmill, not the mill.”
Rushing back out, she took up Daisy’s reins and remounted. Even though a part of her thought she was being foolish for worrying so much, she pressed Daisy into a gallop. The mare responded eagerly as they raced across the familiar path toward the windmill.
The windmill came into view, its sails turning slowly against the sky. As she approached, she spotted most of the ranch hands crowding below it. The knot in her stomach tightened again as she realized their expressions were serious, faces drawn with concern. She pulled Daisy to a halt, anxiety clawing at her insides.
“Frank!” she called, her voice rising above the murmurs of the men. She dismounted quickly, her heart racing as she pushed through the group.
“Mrs. Harper, wait!” one of the ranch hands said, reaching out to stop her.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, fear creeping into her voice. “Where’s Frank?”
A hush fell over the group, and finally, the foreman emerged from the shadows of the windmill, his face smudged with grease and dust but visibly shaken. He looked at her, eyes wide, his face stark, and her heart sank.
“No,” she whispered, a part of her already knowing something had happened to her beloved husband. Please, God, no!
“Mrs. Harper…ma’am,” the foreman said, his eyes sorrowful.
“What happened? Where’s my husband? Where’s Frank?” she demanded.
“The windmill’s gear slipped,” he explained, glancing back at the structure. “Mr. Harper was trying to fix it when it suddenly started to tilt. I shouted for everyone to get back, and they did—just in time. But… it was too late.”
“No!” she shouted again. “Where is he?”
“It’s just happened, ma’am,” the man continued as if he hadn’t even heard her. “He was focused on getting it fixed before he went in for lunch and didn’t realize how unstable it had become.”
Panic surged through her, and she pushed past the men, her heart pounding in her chest. “Frank!” she called, her voice trembling. The thought of him injured, or worse, was unbearable.
“Stay back!” another of the ranch hands warned as she approached the looking structure, but the urgency in her heart drowned out his caution. She couldn’t just stand by; she had to know if he was alright.
“God, please save him for me.” she prayed as tears filled her eyes.
“Frank!” she shouted again, desperate. “Can you hear me? Hold on! I’m coming!” She didn’t wait for a response, racing toward the entrance. The ground felt unsteady beneath her, but she forced herself inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.
The air was thick with dust, and the smell of oil and wood filled her senses. She could see the shadow of the gears looming above, their metallic forms twisted and precarious. “Frank!” she called, moving deeper into the structure.
Then she saw him. He lay so still as if he were a child’s broken doll carelessly discarded. Two of the ranch hands were with him, their eyes sorrowful when they turned to her.
“Somebody get the doctor!” she shouted to those outside. “Hurry!” A part of her could reason the hysteria in her voice, the part that was aware of things her mind was not ready to face. “Who went to get the doctor?” she demanded.
“It’s too late ma’am,” the foreman, who had followed after her informed her in a gentle yet sorrowful voice. Linda’s heart sank as the words hit her like a cold wave.
“What do you mean it’s too late?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.
The foreman stepped closer, his face lined with sorrow. “We tried, but he… he didn’t make it. He fell too fast. We didn’t have enough time.”
“No,” she breathed, denial wrapping around her like a shroud. “No, he was just here. He was fine. Frank!” She fell to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her lap, her fingers brushing through his hair, seeking any sign of life. But his skin was cold, and the light in his eyes had gone out.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to the love they had shared, the dreams they had built together on this land. “Frank, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You can’t leave me. We were supposed to grow old together. You promised.”
The ranch hands stood by, a respectful distance away, their own grief palpable in the air. The foreman put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, lost in her sorrow.
“Ma’am,” he said gently, “we need to move him. We can’t leave him here like this.”
“No!” she cried, clenching her fists. “I can’t. I can’t let go of him.” The weight of her loss felt unbearable, a crushing force that threatened to consume her whole.
“Let us help you,” another ranch hand said, his voice steady. “We’ll take care of him. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The thought of letting go felt like a betrayal, but deep down, she knew she couldn’t stay there forever, lost in her despair. With shaking hands, she reluctantly nodded, allowing them to carefully lift Frank’s body, her heart shattering with each movement.
As they carried him away, she felt an emptiness in her chest that she knew would never fully heal. The world around her blurred, the vibrant colors of the ranch fading into dull shades of gray.
“Where will you take him?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“To the barn for now,” the foreman replied softly. “We’ll lay him to rest properly, I promise. One of the lads has already gone to call Mr. Turner.”
She nodded. Calvin Turner would know what to do. He was Frank’s friend, and he always seemed to know what to do. Linda had no idea about any of it.
Numb, she followed behind them, each step heavy with grief. Memories of their laughter and love flooded her mind—working side by side on the ranch, sharing dreams under the stars, and loving the warmth of his embrace.
With her heart aching and tears streaming down her face, Linda knew her life would never be the same again. Frank had taken the last of any rays of sunlight life had ever given her. She now had nothing.
Closing her eyes, she recited a verse her mother used to love, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh…” She just wished she could understand His will in taking the man she loved.
