Free Shadows of Doubt by Elizabeth Johns

thought better of exploring on his own without finding Abe. He had no idea what parts of the mansion were safe to wander through.
    His hopes sank. This was going to require more work than he had imagined. He wondered if there would be a place for him to live, or if he would have to pitch a tent like he had when in the Army. He set out to look for Abe, when all he wanted to do was have a bath and a drink.  

    Miss Lambert,

    I have finally arrived. Summer here is hotter than I ever imagined it could be and survive it. It is similar to the heat in the Mediterranean, but more humid.
    Thankfully, the workers here do not mind if you roll up your shirt sleeves and loosen your cravat. Abe has continued to manage the fields beautifully, but the house is in need of much repair. How I wish I had brought a female to see to the decorations, for carpets, window hangings and upholstery, for colour coordination is not in my repertoire. However, my father put me in charge so he will have to be content with my choices....
    Social life is different here, though not so different. There are many British and Americans with marriageable daughters, eager to welcome me to their table for their sakes. Should I tell them I have no title and do not own River’s Bend? Most Americans are transplanted from England or the Continent. People are in general very open-mannered and friendly—an interesting but amusing change from English society.
    I have already begun interviewing stewards to oversee the running of the estate, and have hired carpenters to finish rebuilding the manor house which was devastated by the fires. I am spending my spare time hunting or fishing, riding the fields, or looking at blueprints, anxious to have this settled so I may return. I have placed your painting over the mantle in the wing of the house that is habitable. I envision your portrait of River’s Bend hanging there one day. For now, I content myself with glorious Bath stone.
    The view this evening is serene, as I sit on the porch drinking a glass of cold lemonade, recalling the last time I drank it in your delightful company. I do wish you were here to enjoy the picturesque view. I will attempt to paint it with words, but will hardly do it justice.
      The remains of the house overlook a bend in a wide river, the colour of which is muddy brown at times and green at others. There are tall pine trees, intermingled with elms, oaks, birches and weeping willows. Magnolia trees are scattered through the gardens, their white blooms scenting the thick air. Crickets and cicada sing their songs to me as I swat the mosquitoes providing accompaniment for their tunes. Kindly pray for more breezes.  
    Our property is nearby a lovely estate called Mt. Vernon, where the first American President, George Washington, lived. He established a fine gristmill and distillery (which also burned in 1814), and his grandson-in-law Lewis has kindly shared advice and recommendations for stewards and builders. It is in their best interests to do so since we will be away much of the time. Now my objective is to obtain a secret whisky recipe from him.

    Wishing you were here,

    Andrew Abbott
    ***
    “Gwen! Gwen! Where is Edmund?” She heard a panicked voice from her bedroom. She threw back the covers and ran to her mother’s room.
    “Mama?”  
    “Edmund! Edmund! I want to go home!” Her mother looked directly at her but didn't see her.
    “Who is Edmund, Mama?” Was she speaking of her brother who had died as a child?
    Again, her mother looked at her, but didn't seem to recognise her.
    “Edmund!” She called out to him again and was growing angry, and rattled the door to escape.
    “Take me to him. I need to go to Castlebury!”
    “Castlebury? You have not been there since you were a girl, Mama.” She had to be dreaming.
    “Take me there. Now! He needs me!”  
    Her mother’s face turned fierce, and she grabbed Gwen’s hands and shook them with uncharacteristic strength. What was she to