Free Dawn at Emberwilde by Sarah E Ladd Page B

more than wind against the windowpane could. She had tried to push her uncle’s words from her mind, but his words about feeding extra mouths and finding a husband for her would not leave her be. They echoed in her mind like a noisy blackbird, giving her mind yet another reason for caution and trepidation.
    “All that matters, that really matters, is that you and I are together. Now, if the two of us are together, is there anything that can truly make us sad?”
    Lizzie shook her head.
    “No matter what happens while we are here, I promise you that I will never leave you. We shall never be separated. Do you believe me?”
    The little girl nodded sleepily.
    The words in Mary’s letter flitted through her mind.
    For there is a divine plan for each of our lives, and a journey, and you have started yours.
    “We are on a journey, you and I.” Isabel squeezed her sister. “And I don’t know about you, but I am excited to see what adventures are waiting for us.”

Chapter Eight
    M r. Galloway!”
    Mrs. Daugherty’s sharp voice echoed throughout Colin’s small chamber on the second level of the boardinghouse.
    “Mr. Galloway!” she barked, sharper this time. Knuckles rapped on his closed door in barbed persistence. “You are needed downstairs at once. The girl from the Holden farm is here and needs to speak with you.”
    Pushed by the urgency in the voice, not to mention the desire for her to curtail the insistent knocking, Colin shoved his blanket away and jumped from his bed. He shook his fingers through his tousled hair and turned to the room’s only window to gauge the hour. The gray light of early dawn crept in around the fabric covering the narrow pane.
    Why would someone from the Holden farm want to speak with him?
    The image of James Holden flashed in his mind. The short man with thinning gray hair and a round belly was a most capable fellow. A stolen chicken or missing cow was the likeliest reason the farmer would contact the magistrate. But at this hour of the day?
    He called back through the closed door. “Be right down.”
    As he reached for his buckskin breeches slung over the back of a nearby chair, he could hear Mrs. Daugherty muttering on the other side of the door.
    Colin, too, muttered under his breath, not so much bemoaning the earliness of the hour as the impatience of his sharp-tongued landlady. No doubt Mrs. Daugherty’s razor-edged voice and intense knocking had woken the four other gentlemen who boarded here, including Henry, his own cousin, who let the room on the other side of his wall. Eventually, her footsteps retreated down the hall.
    The previous day’s conversation with Ellison echoed in his mind. Perhaps it was time to give more consideration to restoring his property and moving away from the boardinghouse. But with his heavy responsibilities as a solicitor and magistrate, it made little sense to move so far out of town.
    He straightened, tucked his shirt into his trousers, and pulled his heavy black riding boots over his stockings. Before going out he paused to check the small looking glass hanging next to his door. Anyone calling at this hour, regardless of the reason, would have to accept his hasty dress as good enough.
    Colin punched his arm through the sleeve of his coat, unlocked his door, and swung it open.
    The scent of salty ham and baking bread met him in the hall—a familiar morning scent. He made his way down a stairwell so narrow his shoulders nearly brushed either side as he descended.
    Cool air rushed him as he reached the bottom. The half door to the kitchen garden stood ajar, and windows were high in their sashes, letting the early morning’s cool, fresh air into the low-ceilinged room. He filled his lungs with it before turning the corner.
    There, just inside the main door, stood Mrs. Daugherty. Next to her stood a young girl with her arms around a woven basket.
    Colin forced a smile to his face. “Good morning, Mrs. Daugherty, Miss Holden. How can I be of