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The Thornbearer

By Pepper D. Basham

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Chapter One

May 1, 1915
There is a distinct difference between marrying a man you do not love, and falling in love with a man you cannot marry. As Ashleigh Dougall locked eyes with Sam Miller across Manhattan’s crowded dock, the sting of that truth stripped all doubt. Pinpricks of fresh awareness rifled through her like the sharp May wind off the wharf of the Atlantic, bringing to life a shocking realization.
Heaven help her. She was in love with her sister’s fiancé.
Even through the space of noisy travelers and hurried porters, Sam’s grin tripped her heartbeat and introduced a myriad of emotions she’d reserved for three-volume novels and daydreams. Ash-brown curls twisted in an unruly manner from under his brown Fedora and shadowed his best feature – his eyes.
In love with her sister’s fiancé? A man who’d become her dearest friend? Nonsense.
But her mental reprimand did nothing as her pulse skittered into rhythm with Alexander’s Ragtime from the pier. She waited for her mind to catch up with her errant heart, to blame the high emotions of departure, but each thought confirmed the growing attraction. He’d provided escort for the long journey from North Carolina and only now her emotions swelled from girlish fancy to—
No. The idea was utter madness and complete betrayal, a family trait of which she would not fall prey. Whether she blamed youthful blindness or disappointed hopes, the truth remained: Sam was ever faithful – and forever Catherine’s.
Or the woman he thought her sister was.
Ashleigh drew her day suit jacket taut. Rumors had made their way across the Atlantic in Mother’s letters and Fanny’s quick missives. The faithful maid gave more insight into Catherine’s notorious flirting and dogged pursuit of Edensbury’s elite, flaunting a wealth her family didn’t possess. After a year abroad to help her mother grieve, nothing had changed.
A child’s scream pierced through her mental fog. Ashleigh turned in time to see a little girl tumble forward and land in a crumpled mess of lace and cloth on the dock floor, arm pinned beneath her.
A woman with the same blush of auburn hair, rushed to the child’s side. “Alice, are you all right?”
Without another thought to the maddening confusion of her heart, nursing instincts quickened Ashleigh’s steps to the pair on the dock. The older woman pulled the child into her lap.
“My wrist hurts, Mama.” The girl’s cries were muffled against her mother’s chest.
Ashleigh dropped her valise and reticule and lowered herself to the dock beside the pair. Their faded, but pressed clothes, suggested poor – but hardworking. Like so many she’d served over the past two years in the rural North Carolinian Mountains.
She met the mother’s frantic gaze with the cool calm of her specialty. “My name is Ashleigh Dougall. I am a trained nurse. Might I be of assistance?”
Alice whimpered. “I can’t move it, Mama.”
“My girl, Alice, has hurt her wrist.” The mother’s voice pitched higher, a sudden awareness raising her volume and drawing attention from the passersby. “If it’s broke what are we going to do? I used my last dollar to pay for our tickets. How am I going to—?”
“Let’s see what we have here, first. What do you say? I’ve watched magical recoveries with little girls and wounded wrists before.” Alice peeked her teary gaze from her mother’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t wonder if this might not be the perfect setting for another bit of magic.” Ashleigh smoothed her words into softer tones and the spell worked.
The mother’s breathing slowed. Alice sniffled and squinted at Ashleigh, her eyes a beautiful umber hue.
“Hello, darling, I’m very sorry for your spill. I would like to help you. I’m a nurse and know a bit about things like bruised wrists and skinned knees. May I look at your arm, Alice?”
The little girl tightened her hold on her doll, proving the wound was more a sprain than a break. Painful, but not as serious and certainly a less expensive fix.
Sam emerged in Ashleigh’s periphery a short distance across the dock, his whistle at full volume. She caught his gaze in a solid hold of unspoken messages. He paused. Ten years of friendship worked its wonders. He surveyed the situation and increased his pace toward them, resuming his tune along with the band.
She turned to the little girl and lowered her voice to increase the suspense. “My friend Sam has a secret. Do you like secrets?”
Alice’s whimpers died altogether. A smile tickled at the corners of Ashleigh’s lips in response to the interest glittering in Alice’s golden eyes.
Sam removed the newspaper from beneath his arm and knelt at Ashleigh’s side, bringing with him his usual scent of soap and lemon. Heat swirled up her neck and planted firmly on her cheeks, no doubt darker than her mauve day suit.
She acknowledged him with a nod, but kept her attention fastened on Alice’s movements, in part to monitor her injury and in part to gain time to cool the sudden warmth around her chest at his nearness. “Have you ever had a LifeSaver? I wouldn’t wonder if one or two might be the medicine you need to feel better. What do you think, Sam?”
Alice’s sharpened gaze fastened on Sam.
“Well…” His rich bass voice melted into conversation. “You have to be pretty special to get a piece of my candy.” He pulled a colorful roll of paper from his pocket and slowly opened the wrapper.
Alice didn’t miss one twist of Sam’s fingers.
“So, Alice, I need you to reach those fingers out for that candy, and if you use both hands, Sam will put a LifeSaver in each.”
“Two?” Her lips wobbled into an ‘o’ shape.
“Two.” Ashleigh looked to the mother. “If she can clasp this candy, then it will confirm my suspicions of a sprain rather than a break.”
The mother gave a feeble nod.
In an easy sweep of his hand, Sam popped a piece from the wrapper with his thumb, tossed it up in the air and caught it in his mouth. He sighed and closed his eyes with a look of utter satisfaction. “Mmm, that’s some good candy.”
A smile unfurled on Ashleigh’s lips. Such a boy.
The temptation proved too much for Alice’s resolve. With the slowest of motions she unclenched her left fist, dropped her doll on her lap, and brought her left hand to join her outstretched right one.
As Sam placed a LifeSaver in her left palm, she fisted it without a hint of discomfort, eyeing the candy as if it was manna from Heaven. For a poor little girl with a well-worn gown, it just might have been.
Alice raised the red piece into her mouth, her eyes brightening with a hidden smile.
“The red ones are my favorite, but Sam likes yellow best.” Ashleigh made a face and Alice’s grin unhinged a little more.
“Bright and cheery, Miss Alice,” Sam added with a wink. “I’m a big fan of lemons.”
Ashleigh bit back a comment about one sour thing deserving another, but her expression must have hinted her thoughts.
“And I’m never sour, Miss Ashleigh,” he added with a raised brow. “I’m as sweet as country boys come.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile expanded despite her best attempts. A connection had always existed between the two of them -- an easy acceptance. From the first day her family moved into the grand Victorian beside his smaller cottage in Asheville, North Carolina, she’d found the strained relationships of her family bearable with Sam and his father nearby. Harsh family secrets stung less with the kindness of her surrogate big brother. Her chin tilted with resolve. She would not forfeit their friendship to a girlish romantic notion, even if her wayward sister taunted a threadbare hold on his heart.
She tugged at the floral scarf about her neck until it loosed. “Alice, I’m going to wrap your wrist with my scarf until you can see the physician aboard. It will hurt less, if it moves less.”
Alice’s umber eyes widened. “A silk scarf? For me?”
The wonder on the little girl’s face fed the dream in Ashleigh’s heart– an orphanage for little lost souls – of war, or worse. Every child deserved an opportunity for love and a family. Michael’s desertion propelled her into the choice all the more. Heaven knew what her former fiancé had done with his ticket. Wherever he was, he’d most likely sold it weeks ago to pay off a foolish debt. The expensive trip had only proved another one of his grand schemes unraveled into disaster – except this time he gambled her future.
With a few quick and gentle movements, the scarf twisted around Alice’s wrist in a makeshift bandage of gold, blue, and rose. “My gift to you for being such an excellent patient. Now, let’s get you aboard so the physician can properly see to your arm.” Ashleigh reached for her reticule and started to stand. Sam was at her side to assist her. The perfect gentleman.
Catherine doesn’t deserve him.
Sam leaned close to her ear. “Nice work, Nurse Dougall. No wonder your patients love you.”
The intimacy of his whisper sent tingles rushing across her neck, renewing the whole battle of fight or flight within her. She offered him the briefest of smiles and turned back to the mother and daughter. “Have a safe journey.”
With a wink in Ashleigh’s direction, Sam placed another LifeSaver in Alice’s unharmed hand. Yellow.
“And a happy one.”
The mother and daughter offered their thanks again and then rushed off to the third class gangway, leaving her alone with Sam. Alone with Sam. That had never been a problem before.
But now?
He stood at her side, his usual grin hitched at the corner. Her heart gave a responsive flutter. Problem? The sweet hum under her skin confirmed much more than a problem. It awakened a frightening flare of emotion she could barely contain, and being out of control terrified her. All she needed was to get aboard without saying something to alter her friendship with him forever and possibly brand her as frivolous as her sister. Surely after two years nurses’ training and a childhood diet of pretension, she could douse her feelings long enough to board the ship?
But Sam knew her. His tender way of etching out the truth held a surgeon’s precision.
A cheer from the crowd pulled Ashleigh’s attention to the emotionless steel of The Lusitania. Dwarfing the crowded pier, the ocean liner provided a solid diversion of elegance and ingenuity. It was a massive display. The Cunard Company’s Scottish princess. A stronghold of black paint and billowing smoke framed by the four towering funnels and five passenger decks readied to whisk her back to England and away from her failed wedding plans.
Running from her disappointment with Michael to the world of pretention with her sister? A lesser of two evils? At least Catherine’s behavior was predictable and didn’t leave her holding a one-way ticket-turned-escape-plan.
She studied the great display of white and red flags, fluttering in the strong ocean gusts. People of all shapes and sizes, from every social class, painted a blur of smiles, bidding their farewells from the cascade of decks high above, but one face came into focus among the masses.
Ashleigh’s breath stumbled on a gasp. The ship’s funnels blurred. The crowd’s noise droned to a murmur.
Michael?
Her reticule slid from her hand, dropping to the pier, fingers too numb to snatch it in time. Impossible. He’d disappeared eight months before their wedding without explanation only to show up now? Here?
Her knees weakened. She’d given him her friendship and a promise of her future, and in return? He’d left her holding a ‘good-bye note’ and a heart filled with as many questions as the debtors knocking on her door to locate him. No. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, her troubled thoughts creating ghosts.
She bent to retrieve the small bag, muscles moving as if in slow motion, but Sam reached it first. Concern in his eyes softened the tension in her face.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” She took her reticule from him and nodded toward the ocean liner.
“This fell from your bracelet.” Sam handed her the intricate locket her Grandmama had given her as a parting gift. A charm with a portrait of the two of them together. “You don’t need to lose any more. It looks like there is only one more left on your bracelet.”
Ashleigh took it with a small smile. She’d removed all the charms from her father, except the one given to her his last Christmas. The piano. Somehow, since it had been presented from the entire family, it didn’t hold the same corruption as the other charms. Those gifts came with a meaningless apology for the corruption he continued to bestow on her. Perhaps Grandmama’s elegant charm fastened on the old bracelet would prove the past didn’t have to direct her forever. “Thank you.”
“And the ticket man had this for you.”
She took the small envelope from him, her name scrawled in elegant hand on the front. A quick look confirmed her suspicions. “It’s from Grandmama’s distant acquaintance, Mrs. Ragan. My room adjoins hers and she’s providing escort for me, but I believe it’s more a formality than anything else. I don’t suspect we’ll engage in much conversation since she cares little for the society in which she is traveling.”
“Ah! She sounds delightful.” He nodded, his gaze searching hers, almost as if he could see her heart. “Are you sure you’re all right, Ash?”
His nickname drew a larger smile from her. “Just overwhelmed by this Palace of the Seas, I suppose.”
The ship loomed overhead, calling her attention back to the railing where she’d seen Michael’s image, but he was as absent as he’d been on their wedding day. She was finished with him. A new life with new dreams waited just across the ocean and Michael wasn’t a part of it.
Sam sighed and a hint of mischief tipped the corners of his lips. He assessed the ship, hands tucked in his pockets. “You Brits sure like to show off, don’t you?”
Her caution ebbed in light of his easy banter, their friendship an acceptable substitute for romantic fancies. Oh, how she would miss him. “Poor Sam, you’re not going to allow a ship to wound your fragile American pride now, are you?”
Sam winced and slapped his palm against his chest, feigning a wound. “Whew, nice shot. I think my quick wit is rubbing off on you.” He leaned close and winked. “Your mother might disapprove.”
Ashleigh adjusted her gloves to keep her gaze from his, but warmth swirled in her stomach, nonetheless. “She has a tendency to disapprove of me quite often. And you never help.”
He took off his hat and ruffled his curls. “You mean she still hasn’t forgiven me for teaching you how to swim? That’s an important skill to lea—”
“Swimming mildly irritated her and bicycling, well, she didn’t care for that too much either. But climbing trees? Frog gigging? She may never forgive you for those.”
Sam’s brows inched higher with each accusation.
She razed him with a look. “Not suitable for a lady, you know.”
“A lady? You were ten−”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve?” One brow tipped skyward and he scratched his chin. “Well, you were still just a kid, not a lady.”
A grin eased onto her face. “Mother had high hopes that I would be some day.”
Sam hesitated, as if considering the thought, and then tilted his head to examine her. “A lady?” His expression softened, a tender caress. “I don’t think frog gigging affected that outcome.”
For one split-second she bathed in the fresh spill of sweetness his affectionate gaze produced. But it could never be. His love resembled an elder brother’s or perhaps a dear friend, but nothing more. She shifted under his gaze.
“Well, Scott was too young and I could never convince Catherine to try new things.”
“Ah, I see the way of it.” Ashleigh shook her head and stepped back, Catherine’s name a presence between them as never before. “Corrupt the young, impressionable Dougall sister. Of course, it didn’t help that I thought you hung the moon and stars.”
“You’ve always been a smart girl. At least you have your priorities straight.” A twinkle deepened his eyes. Had they always been so blue?
“Smart girl, indeed? Where was Catherine when I was ankle deep in a sinking boat trying to pick off some poor frogs? Not within half a mile, I’d say.”
“You know, Catherine always disappeared when I mentioned slimy critters or dirt. It usually ended up just you and me.” His gaze grew intense. “And we’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
She couldn’t manage his seriousness. Her feelings edged much too close to the surface already. “The fact I engaged in questionable outdoor activities is the core of our friendship? Why does it suddenly feel less glamorous than I imagined?”
“Maybe not so glamorous, but certainly genuine.” His smile faded. “I can’t imagine Millington without you.”
At the vulnerable look in his eyes, something cautious and hard inside her chest melted. She settled into the feeling like coming home. Sam. How long had his face replaced Michael’s in her dreams? A sharp sting eclipsed the touch of sweetness, his tenderness suddenly too painful, pleading for her complete confidence.
She wanted to trust him completely, anchor her faith in the kindness of another man, place her hope in the possibilities of something more, but she couldn’t. Memories suffocated hope, reminding her of who she was…and who betrays. Men. Men like Michael. Or her father.
A protective cloak of pretension as ingrained through her family as the dominant gene for dark hair cooled her heated cheeks, numbing her feelings. “Millington is my true home.”
“And people always come back home, right, Ash?”
She cleared her throat. “There’s plenty to be done in Edensbury, so I shan’t know how long Mother expects me to remain. She was determined to place an ocean between her and Grandmama once father was no longer around to play referee. Although I’m certain the thought of living in Grandmama’s manor house gives little consolation.” She shrugged. “And with my nurse’s salary, I hope to make my own contributions to the war effort.”
“The orphanage you’ve talked about?”
“You were listening?”
He quirked a brow. “Now why would you think I don’t listen?”
Michael never did. The thought humbled her. The past eight months since his absence proved better clarity than the previous two years. Michael had never loved her as much as he loved himself. She’d agreed to marry him on a whim of grief after her father’s death, a means to ease her mother’s financial burden and she’d hoped their love might grow in time.
Hope had never served her well.
“An orphanage seems an insignificant thing for a man, I suppose.”
“I’m not Michael.” The tension in his voice drew her eyes to his.
His gaze roamed her face, as if memorizing it. She stepped close and placed her hand on his arm, his muscle tensing beneath it. Her words nearly stuck in her throat. “I know you’re not.”
He tilted his head, watching her. “Do you realize we’ve eaten dinner together five nights a week for the past three months?”
“What?”
“And lunch every Sunday?”
Some of the best memories of her life – a friendship forged deeper over the past year. “Yes, I know.”
“There’s going to be this giant hole in my life when you leave.” He shook his head. “First Catherine and now you?”
I’m not Catherine. She searched his gaze and forced a strained whisper. “We can write letters.”
His expression darkened. “They’re not the same.”
She stood in silence, willing the safe numbness to stay wrapped around her heart. No, they weren’t. No tender glances or shared secrets at the table. No easy banter or welcome laughter. Letters could never be the same, but neither would their relationship. Her pulse shuddered into an erratic staccato and she distanced herself with a step. “I must go.”
His forehead crinkled in thought. “Do you have everything?”
Have everything? No, she was missing a husband, a honeymoon negligee, and a piece of her heart to the wrong man. Blessed escape was the only answer. “Yes, thank you, dear Sam.” She took a deep breath. “But I suppose I must be off.”
He nodded, but didn’t move. “S’pose so.”
“My bags?”
“I had a porter take them after I picked up the tickets.”
“Then−” Ashleigh replayed his word in her mind. Her gaze snapped to his. “Tickets?”
Sam nudged her forward. “There’s the line for boarding?”
“Tickets? Sam?”
He led her to the gangway, his jaw working. A certain sign of trouble. “I already told you, Ash. I couldn’t just let you leave.”
She caught his arm. “Sam?”
“I haven’t seen Catherine in a year and our engagement happened so fast. Maybe I rushed things.” He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, squinting from pale midday sun. “Her letters - they’ve been fewer and farther between. Things have changed. I need to see her.”
Ashleigh’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
His stare brooked no argument. All heat fled her body.
“I’m going with you to England.”

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