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Growing A Family in Persimmon Hollow (Persimmon Hollow Legacy Book 3)

By Gerri Bauer

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CHAPTER 1

PERSIMMON HOLLOW, JANUARY 1891
Penelope Gold stood by the window, cradled a hand over her abdomen, and swallowed. She had to stay detached. The life growing inside would be with her for only another six months. Then he or she would stay here at St. Isidore’s Orphanage South in this hinterland town on the Florida frontier.

Penelope would return to Boston, and pretend to have absorbed a rich understanding of Italian Renaissance art after an extended trip abroad. Everyone at musicales and dinner parties would nod and make appropriate murmurings as though they believed her.
She stepped back and sat down hard on the wood-frame bed in her small but sunny room. Her travel guidebook bounced off the edge of the mattress and dropped to the bare pine floor with a thud.

A dizzy spell clamped down on her. The pinwheel patterns of the clean but faded quilt appeared to spin. She looked down and tried to focus on the guidebook’s title print. The words, too, blurred and waved. She reached for the clean chamber pot just in
time. The effluent barely missed Baedeker’s Italy Handbook for Travelers: Second Part, Central Italy and Rome.


NATE RUSSON nearly leapt from the steps before the train fully came to a halt at the Persimmon Hollow station. Eager? Yes, indeed. He’d make a name for himself if this job turned out as promising as Professor Art suspected it would. And when had the prof ever been wrong? Nate drummed his fingers on the doorway’s sturdy frame and then nearly lost his footing when the train lurched to a stop.

He grabbed his satchel and was the first one off. Actually, he was the only one off. The conductor picked up the waiting mailbag and waved farewell to Nate, and the train lumbered off.

Nate’s hands itched to probe, sift, and dig through the ancient shell mounds he knew lay just a short distance from the small station house. Too bad it was in the opposite direction of his first destination. He tugged on his watch fob, checked the time, and tucked the timepiece back into the pocket of his trousers. Only a few minutes early. Not enough time to tramp over to the riverbank and return before his hosts arrived to pick him up. In fact, he could hear wagon wheels creak in the near distance.

With a good amount of will, he resigned himself to duty. He imagined he’d first have to meet every farmer, preacher, merchant, church lady, and schoolmarm in town. That’s what the professor had alluded to when he wrote that his sweetheart— Professor Art with a sweetheart?—wanted to “introduce Nate to everyone” before the excavation got under way.

“We just need to explain things, my boy,” Art had written. “Some around here don’t even know the word archaeology, much less what it means and what we intend to undertake.”

Nate hoped they’d be able to dispense with the niceties in short order. Darn propriety, he thought. Always getting in the way.


“IF THE WEATHER is always this nice, I might move here permanently,” Nate said as he shook Seth Taylor’s hand, and then Clyde Williams’ hand, and was introduced to more people than he could remember at once. “I have to keep reminding myself it’s January. Just look.”

He waved in a general direction outward from the wide front porch of the Alloway Boarding House, which was crowded with people. Sharp, bright sunlight angled against the wooden buildings that lined the sandy road. The sun-shadow contrast emphasized the clean edges of false fronts, windowsills, and peaked roofs of the town’s central district. They were clustered around the main intersection before giving way to a few blocks of businesses in each direction, followed by fenced homesteads.

The day’s heat accented woodsy smells of cedar, pine, and oak from trees in homestead yards and along the middle of the main road. The heavy air captured the sweet scent of citrus that rose from gleaming orange globes on dooryard trees visible in every direction.

The large wood-frame Alloway House seemed a natural part of the surroundings. Bees droned amid pink camellia blossoms that blanketed a shrub in the yard.

“Near perfect breeze, yup, and a right nice dose of sunshine,” answered Clyde, his thumbs hooked in his denim overalls.

“Tell me again, you are?” Nate asked.

“Owner of Clyde’s Mercantile, the best—”

“‘The best mercantile in town.’ No, the only mercantile in town,” interrupted two teenagers who seemed delighted at their comment.

“It’s a town joke,” the girl explained. “Clyde always introduces himself and his store as the best, when it’s the only one of its kind for miles around. You saw the country on your ride into town. Persimmon Hollow is surrounded by wilderness.”

“Ahem,” said Clyde to Nate. “Allow me to introduce Miss Polly Taylor and Master Billy Taylor, who think they are smarter than their young hides.”

Clyde nodded toward the man named Seth Taylor. “They go with that fellow. Hey, Seth, your young’uns are at it again.” Clyde half-suppressed a grin and ambled off.

“Ah, nice to see siblings get along,” Nate said to Seth. “My brothers and sisters and me, we tussle as much as we hug. But our blood is thick. We stand by one another. Family always does.”

“Same here,” said Seth. He grinned at the teenagers, who beamed back at him before clattering down the porch steps and plunking down on the bottom rung.

Seth continued to sort out people and relationships for Nate’s benefit. “My wife, Agnes, is the woman with the dark hair who’s talking to Fanny Alloway and Professor Art.” He pointed to a young woman whose smile filled her heart-shaped face. She chatted with the older couple while corralling an energetic toddler.

“The little one is our Seth Jr. My wife is the town’s moral compass. She and the Sisters of St. Francis keep everyone in line, seeing as we don’t have a resident priest yet in Persimmon Hollow.”

“You have sisters in town?” Nate asked. “I’ll have to be on my best behavior.”

“Not in town, exactly,” said Seth. “They run St. Isidore’s Orphanage South. Agnes and I built the orphanage on my family land, Taylor Grove, two miles out from here. Long story behind how it all came about. You’ll get an earful sooner than later from the ladies. You’re welcome to visit out at the grove anytime.”

“Excellent,” said Nate. “I’ll be sure to do so.” He shook hands again, then moved to the next cluster of people on the porch.

Nate appreciated the roominess of the porch, which wrapped around all sides of the structure of a style he’d dubbed Florida Victorian Vernacular. The house had two stories and a generous number of tall windows that stretched almost ceiling to floor. The white building lacked the scrollwork and ornate embellishments he saw on similar houses up North. It was as clean and straightforward as the startup town that surrounded it and the people he’d met so far.


PENELOPE WATCHED the introductions from her perch at the far end of the porch. She tried to listen with care. After a week in town, she still didn’t have names and faces straightened out. There were too many people intertwined in too many family and community connections.

Just trying to figure out the Taylors—the Seth-Agnes-Billy- Polly-baby Seth family—gave her a headache. She knew Agnes had come to Persimmon Hollow alone a number of years ago, seeking escape just as Penelope was now doing. From what, she couldn’t remember.

Penelope adjusted her hat and wiped the sweat on her forehead with discreet dabs. Artfully folded watered silk and draped lace, accented by ostrich feathers, made for a fashionable hat. But it held in heat rather than warded off the sun she’d expected to be in. It was painfully obvious to her she was overdressed. This was no society tea.

Worse, she felt sicker with each passing minute. Focus, Penelope, she told herself. She steeled her mind back to the strangers around her. How did the Taylors fit together?
She did recall that Agnes’s adopted daughter Polly had followed from the North soon after Agnes arrived. How had a then-unmarried woman adopted a daughter? Penelope couldn’t fathom. She only remembered being told Agnes had nudged Seth onto a path toward redemption from his past. And that Billy’s was Seth’s nephew, not his son. Penelope wasn’t privy to details. She sensed she’d heard only part of the story about the Taylor family on whose land she now resided—temporarily —under the shelter of the Sisters of St. Francis at the orphanage.

(Read Agnes and Seth’s story in At Home in Persimmon Hollow.)

Penelope turned her gaze toward the late-middle-aged Alloway sisters, Fanny and Eunice. They owned the Alloway House where people had gathered, although only Fanny still lived in it. They seemed to know everyone. The daughters of the now-deceased town founder, they had long run the family home as a boarding house.

She knew Eunice had married the man in overalls named Clyde Williams not that long ago. Eunice and Clyde now lived across the street, above Clyde’s Mercantile.

Right now, Fanny hovered around the man named Professor Art. Their relationship, as with Eunice and Clyde’s, was a late-in-life love story. It’s why Penelope remembered the details. The professor had known Fanny in their youth. They’d lost touch when separated by family relocations. Fanny and her sister had become missionaries and Art a university professor.

Art found Fanny in Persimmon Hollow when he arrived to do academic research a year earlier, and he’d vowed never to lose her again. He was now happily retired and helped Fanny with the boarding house. She could see how much Fanny enjoyed fussing over him.

Penelope sighed. In truth, she felt too sick to care any longer who was who and how they were related. She wasn’t any more enamored of sleepy Persimmon Hollow now than she had been the first time she saw it, when her family had dragged her to town for a winter vacation.

Penelope nestled into her wicker chair and did her best to fade in the corner of the porch. She shifted the chair to position herself slightly behind a large potted fern whose fronds spilled from a tall urn. The movement made her stomach feel queasy. She closed her eyes, which made it worse. Near despair, she removed her hat and set it on the side table. The gentle air on her overheated head felt blissful. But it did little to settle her stomach.

She opened her eyes and forced her attention back to the talkative crowd. She made herself study the people. Anything to keep her mind off this queasiness. She focused on finding distinguishable features to help her differentiate one person from the next:

Seth, with dark hair, a firm step, strong build, and Stetson hat, one of the town’s leading men;
Agnes, whose dark hair curled against her cheeks in a way that framed kind but serious eyes that took in everything;
Clyde, tall and thin and always in overalls, with a friendly word for all;
Eunice, also tall and thin, with sharp eyes and glasses perched halfway down her nose;
Fanny, with plump pink face, curly gray hair, and bouncy cheerfulness;
Professor Art, full of spry energy and sporting a shock of white hair and round glasses;
Polly, light-brown-haired, lively, and freckle-faced;
the slightly taller and blonder Billy, whose friendly eyes showed just a glint of mischief.

And the newly arrived fellow, Nate, an archaeologist if she’d heard correctly. He seemed like a spirited horse ready to run. She saw it in his alert movements and in the intelligence shining from his dark blue eyes. Even his glasses couldn’t cover the interest that sparked there. If only she felt a hint of the energy he projected.

Of all of them, only Fanny Alloway was really familiar to Penelope. She’d been a kind hostess during Penelope’s earlier vacation at the boarding house, the time she’d moped through her visit.

Penelope thought back to when she, her two brothers, and their wives had stayed at the Alloway House for that winter vacation. Her family had insisted she make the journey because they disapproved of her then-beau, Herman, and wanted to put distance between them.

She hated to admit they’d been right. At the time, she’d refused to listen. Her separation from Herman lasted as long as the vacation. They’d picked the relationship back up as soon as she returned to Boston.

Then Herman had shown his dark side, cornering Penelope in a way that allowed no escape. He’d assaulted her and she’d become pregnant. He was the reason for her current stay in Persimmon Hollow. But this time she’d made the trip alone—in disgrace.

Penelope almost regretted attending the welcome tea for the visiting archaeologist. She thought with longing of her quiet, sunlit room at the orphanage. But the weather had been so beautiful, the sky so blue, the breeze a caress that fluttered the window curtains and rippled across her skin.

The gentle wind had carried rich earthy scents on clean air that steadied her nerves and quieted her body. The camellia shrubs that dotted the landscape at Taylor Grove were flush with blooms in cardinal and crimson reds and angel whites. Hawks soared in the sky overhead. Sandhill cranes almost as tall as she was walked past her window with jerky-smooth movements that sparked wonder in her.

Everything had conspired to lure her out of her self-imposed shell. It was impossible to be somber or self-pitying on such a day. And the entreaties from the others to join them at the tea had been so earnest.

“Why, h-e-l-lo-! Hello!”

She looked up, a fraction too quickly, and let the hint of a dizzy spell pass. The archaeologist Nate stood before her. For the first time since the gathering began, he appeared at a loss for words.

“Who do we have hiding here?” he said, and stared as though not quite sure Penelope was really sitting there or if he was seeing a mirage.

His brown hair was lighter than her own dark chestnut tresses, so deep they appeared brunette in certain light. His hair was wavy, fine, and somewhat rumpled, whereas hers was thick, straight, and always pinned into a neat chignon. And his eyes, so clear and such a dark blue. Behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses, they held a momentarily stunned expression that soon gave way to appreciation.

“How do you do, miss?” He bowed, grinned, and held out a hand. She raised up hers, automatically, for after all that’s how she’d always met men. He kissed the top of her gloved hand and set it gently back in her lap.

“The sun didn’t get in my eyes and blind me with illusion!” he declared. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Your hair, my gosh, it glints in the sun. And your eyes— they remind me of amber. God has kissed you with abundant beauty!”

He half-turned away. “Professor Art, where have you been hiding this picture of perfection all my life?”

“Picture of perfection?” Penelope was in no mood. Who, really, was this man and why didn’t he just go away? He had no idea how she looked when at her best, which certainly wasn’t now.

Agnes Taylor walked up to them within seconds, holding her squirming toddler with what appeared to be an effortless grasp. Fanny and Professor Art were inches behind.

“Are you feeling well, Penelope?” Agnes asked, and sat in the chair on the other side of the fern. Penelope took in the way Agnes perched the little boy on her lap and soothed his brow. She felt an unexpected twinge. She’d never get to do that with the child she carried.

“At the moment, yes,” Penelope said with a weak smile.

Agnes nodded. She was one of the few people who knew the truth. “You let me know, otherwise.”

“Penelope. A beautiful name,” Nate said, not giving an inch of space to the others. “Are you one of Persimmon Hollow’s sun- kissed denizens? Tell me you’re not spoken for. My heart would shatter.”

“Oh, pish, young man, settle down and don’t railroad the poor girl,” tsked Fanny, but her tone was kind. “Penelope is still learning everyone’s names. She’s only been with us a week.”

“Perfect! We, two strangers, can get to know everyone together, can’t we, Miss...uh, Miss?”

“Gold,” Penelope said.

“And worth more than any amount of that precious metal, I’m sure,” said Nate.

“And he’s Nate Russon, over-confident smooth talker and up-and-coming archaeologist from my old university,” said Professor Art. “He’s here to conduct an excavation of the large shell mound out by the river, the one across from Hontoon Island. That island holds its own mysteries and mounds, too. But we’re—he’s, I mean—starting on the mainland.”

“With a bit of luck this will make my career,” said Nate to Penelope. “Are you staying here at the boarding house, too?”

Penelope shook her head no and fought off a fatigue that made her want to curl up in the chair and nap. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She was too tired.

The professor introduced Nate to another man who’d wandered up. Someone slammed the screen door. Agnes made a comment to a recently arrived woman she called Lupita. A cardinal chirped from a tree. Little Seth Jr. started to fuss, people spoke too loudly, and Fanny yoo-hooed to a person walking down the street. Nate made quick work of more hellos and turned back toward Penelope.

“Would you mind taking a walk with me? If not now, perhaps later this afternoon or early evening, Miss Gold? With a chaperone, of course, if that’s how things are done around here.”

Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth as bile rose out of nowhere. She bolted up, pushed Nate aside, and ran into the house. She prayed she’d make it to the wash basin in the upstairs bedroom Fanny had earlier invited her to use for resting.

The others on the porch stilled and looked at the door.

“Was it something I said?” asked a bewildered Nate. “I’m not that bad-looking of a guy.”

“Penelope is a bit under the weather, that’s all,” said Agnes, with a quick, knowing look to Fanny. “Fanny, take little Seth, I’ll go check on her after giving her a few minutes of privacy.” The plump older woman held out her arms to take the toddler.

“She’ll be back in good health in no time if I may help,” said Nate. “I usually have a good effect on people. You ask anyone in my family.”

“It’s going to be a long winter,” Agnes said under her breath to Fanny as she handed over little Seth.

“I certainly hope so,” said Nate, and gave Agnes a cat’s grin at having overheard her. Billy whooped approval from where he now sat nearby, on the porch railing. Nate winked at him before returning his attention to Agnes, who had rolled her gaze upward at Billy’s antics.

“To receive a plum assignment in a land of endless summer and then find the woman of my dreams at the destination, well, the only thing missing is a spectacular scientific discovery out in those shell mounds,” Nate said. “And I’ll find that soon enough. What could go wrong?”
He whistled as he walked over to where some of the other men had clustered.

The two women watched him amble off, tall, lean, toned, and filled with buoyant energy edged with bright confidence.

“Wherever did Art find him?” Agnes asked.

“At the university,” Fanny said. “Art stepped up to be his mentor after noting his intelligence and discovering he’s first in his immigrant family to pursue higher learning. Art says he’s a good man, a hard worker eager to advance, and has the brains to match his ambition.”

“And more than a bit of brashness,” mused Agnes.

“At least it’s good-natured,” Fanny said, and planted a kiss on the sniffling little Seth. “Unlike this little man right now.”

Agnes smoothed the toddler’s hair and kissed his head. “He gets crabby when he’s overtired,” she said. “Just like his father. I better get them both back to Taylor Grove. I can tell just by looking at Seth that he’s had all the small-town talk he can handle for one day. Let me go check on Penelope first.”

Upstairs, Penelope splashed her face with cool water from the wash basin. She’d heaved up nothing, because nothing would stay down to begin with. How could everything have gone so wrong, so quickly, and ended in this forced exile? She blinked back tears of anger and frustration. It was going to be a long winter.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

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