Page 1 of Brian and Cora
CHAPTER 1
September, 1895
Sweetwater Springs
With an exasperated growl, Bryan Bly swiped a heavy hand over the paper, crumpling the sheet in his fist, not caring if the inked words stained his palm. He threw the lopsided ball at the plank wall opposite his desk, where it bounced off to land on the wooden floor, tumbling to rest in the midst of a widespread paper pile. The only reason the inkwell didn’t follow was because three days ago, his frustration had gotten the better of him. The wall now sported a black sunburst stain and his pork pie inkwell a chip on the lip.
With another growl, he glanced out the window to view his slice of Three Bend Lake, peaceful, tree-shaded, and beautiful. He’d removed the trees between his house and the lake, making room for a small, pebble-strewn beach. At this time of day, a breeze kicked up, ruffling the mirrored surface so it no longer reflected the sky.
His canoe lay under canvas on wooden perches. He hadn’t taken it out on the lake since last week.
Through the partially opened front window, he heard a high voice call, “Bry-in, Bry-in!” Wiping the scowl from his face, he shoved back his chair, stood, and stretched before walking over to open the door.
Jewel, the eleven-year-old daughter of his neighbor and friend, Torin Rees, stood on his porch, clutching a handful of ragged wildflowers against her chest. Seeing him, her almond-shaped blue eyes lit up, and she smiled wide, the tip of her tongue protruding slightly.
She was clad in a pink outfit made by the dressmaker, Constance Taylor, a contrast to the tubelike garments she’d previously worn—the best Torin could fashion with his fumbling sewing skills. Until recently, the man kept Jewel a secret from everyone but Brian and Hank Canfield, their other neighbor living along the lake, fearing she’d be ridiculed and repudiated, as his former wife and both their families had done.
Hank’s three new friends—Elsie Bailey, whom he was courting, as well as Dr. Angus Cameron and Constance, his fiancée—had thawed some of Torin’s rigid reserve. But he wasn’t ready to trust anyone else with the secret of his precious Jewel’s existence.
“Fla-ers, Bry-in.” The child gazed up at him, her grin making the skin around her eyes crinkle.
Sweet Jewel was the only one who could coax a smile from Brian when he was in a grumpy mood, or, for that matter, most any mood.
He trod on the stone step outside his doorway, bent his knees, and slipped his hands around her waist. With considerable effort, he lifted her high above his head. She squealed with joy, making him chuckle. He twirled her around before setting her down.
Soon, please God, she’ll be too heavy. Although he’d miss being able to hold her high, he’d feel grateful for her growth. At the baby’s birth, Torin’s doctor had told him Mongoloid children had a short lifespan, which Jewel had already exceeded by six or seven years. So, the three bachelors counted every day with the girl as a blessing.
“Where’s your pa, Sugar?” Talking to Jewel was the only time he slipped into his long-suppressed Southern accent.
The child half-turned and pointed down the dirt path.
Torin stood about twenty feet away, one booted foot propped on a log. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thigh. A breeze off the lake ruffled the mink-brown hair he wore to his shoulders, making him appear the very picture of a dashing, romantic hero from the pages of a novel. Although not, of course, one of Brian’s, since he wrote adventure dime novels—no hint of love allowed, unless that of a man for his horse or dog.
Torin’s a contrast to the curmudgeonly, dwarf-like character that is Brian Bly. Well, a troll, for I’m too tall to be taken for a dwarf.
“Fla-ers, Bry-in.” With an imperious gesture, Jewel thrust the bouquet upward.
He took the flowers. “Want me to put them in water?”
With an emphatic nod, she pointed into the house.
He swept her a bow, with his free hand. “At your service, Sugar Princess.”
Her giggles made her cheeks pink and her eyes scrunch.
His battered-shut heart creaked open a sliver—a response only Jewel could bring about.
Jewel’s innocent happiness made the three bachelors living near Three Bend Lake her willing servants, always striving to do her bidding to earn that expressive smile.
“Be right back, Sugar.” Hurrying into his one-room cabin, he veered to the dry sink to pick up the chipped, white pitcherresting inside the basin next to several unwashed mugs and glasses. He squinted into the depths of the pitcher, grateful to see a few inches of water. When he was deep into writing, or lately, failing to write, he neglected everyday necessities like bringing in water, keeping a fire going, and feeding himself. He dipped his head to sniff an armpit. Bathing, too.
Well, it’s not as if I’m going anywhere, and Hank and Torin often exude their own manly odors. Still, he made a mental note to take a cold plunge into the lake on the next sunny day.
He grabbed a mason jar from a shelf, poured in the remaining water, and thrust the flowers inside, fluffing them out.
Jewel and Torin stepped through the open door and into the house.
Torin took in the crumpled sheets of paper and the ink stain on the wall. Although he raised his brows, wisely, he didn’t say anything.
