Free The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) by Vikki Kestell

toured the butler’s pantry with its wine case and
walls of empty shelves, slots, drawers. Adjacent was a modest room with a
single, high window, the former butler’s quarters. The room was snug and dry,
and Nancy and Corrine had cleaned it thoroughly.
    “Why, this is a perfect bedroom for our Mr. Wheatley, is it
not?” Joy asked. They unanimously echoed Joy’s sentiments. Mr. Wheatley, with a
happy air of possession, examined the built-in drawers and small wardrobe.
    Up the wide staircase they trudged. They explored the second
floor, counting the bedrooms, bathrooms, linen closets, staircases, and
passages. They admired rounded rooms, odd angled rooms, and projecting windows
with wide views of the grounds. They did so while studiously ignoring water
stains, mold, crumbling plaster, and mouse droppings.
    Up the next flight of stairs they wandered onto the third
floor where they discovered three unique turret rooms, each with high ceilings
and three other rooms more regular in size. Through a passage to the back of
the house they encountered a row of small servant quarters.
    The tiny rooms were built into the angled pitch of one of
the house’s roofs. Their dormer windows protruded from the roof, each window
with its own peaked roof.
    Finally they discovered a quaint set of wooden steps, only
six of them, leading to a locked door.
    “This must lead to the attic,” Grant suggested. “Odd that
the door is locked. I will see about finding a key.”
    They spent an hour touring the house and “dreaming” as
Breona had put it. Rose and Joy agreed that it had been well worth the time as
the happy possibilities they envisioned grew larger—at least for a few
minutes—than the tasks ahead of them.
    At the bottom of the wide staircase, Joy hugged Breona
tightly. The men were already heading outside and the women returning to their
chores. “You are brilliant, my dear friend,” she said sincerely.
    “Nay,” she replied softly. “Did no’ th’ Lord say t’ Abraham,
‘lift up yer eyes an’ look’ ? An’ what e’re Abraham was seein’, th’ Lord
was givin’ t’ him.”
    She cast an eye up the staircase to the floors above. “These
bairns mus’ b’ lookin’ t’ what th’ Lord will be givin’ th’m, I’m
thinkin’.”
    At half past five the mingled scents of baking bread and
beef simmering in thick gravy began to waft through the house. At six the
household gathered in the dining room again.
    Grant and Billy brought in a pair of sawhorses and placed
three long planks across them. Then they carried in several benches Billy and
Mr. Wheatley had knocked together from scraps they found in the carriage house.
    Tabitha and Nancy washed down the planks and laid clean
sheets upon them. Marit placed two kerosene lamps on their makeshift dining
table as they gathered gratefully for a hot meal.
    They ate voraciously, but made little conversation. No one
had the energy. Rose found herself nodding off over her plate and jerked awake
in chagrin, but no one had noticed. They were, all of them, exhausted beyond
measure.
    Breona set them to cleaning up and arranging bedrolls soon
after. The girls followed Breona’s instructions mechanically; no one objected
when she suggested they turn in as soon as the beds were ready.
    Breona split the girls between three bedrooms and Rose
joined them, their few blankets poor padding against the hardwood floors. Mr.
Wheatley chose the butler’s quarters, Grant and Joy the parlor, and Billy and Marit
bedded down in the great room.
     
    The night was difficult for most of them, and the next
morning was brutal. Aching, short on sleep, and cranky, many tempers were
short, and the day began badly.
    Rose could scarcely lead devotions nor did anyone at the
breakfast table seem to care. She asked Grant to read to them while they ate
and slowly woke up. He managed a chapter in Matthew and then, with no
objections, closed the Bible she’d handed him and yawned. Breona, herself
looking worn,