Finding natalie, p.1
Finding Natalie, page 1
Finding Natalie
Whiskey Springs Book One
Kathryn Kaleigh
FINDING NATALIE
Natalie Worthington. A young lady who sacrifices everything to care for her family, but nearly loses her own life in the process.
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With nothing left and nowhere to go after the war ends, they travel west. But danger lurks at every turn. Can she protect not only her loved ones, but also herself?
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Alexander Avery. A loyal friend who got more than he bargained for. Unable to find the woman he loves, he travels west. To make a new life for himself.
* * *
Can two people fulfill a promise made long ago in a place far, far away?
* * *
A story of two people searching for forever.
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www.kathrynkaleigh.com
www.kstpublishing.com
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kathryn@kstpublishing.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Epilogue
Promising Samantha
Promising Samantha
Also by Kathryn Kaleigh
Chapter 1
1864
* * *
There was something magical about a snowy morning.
The world was quiet and peaceful.
Absolutely no sounds whatsoever. Like a soft blanket insulating the earth.
Quiet except for Biscuit’s soft snoring. The dog was curled up on the foot of her bed, keeping her feet warm.
Biscuit was a big gangly black dog. He’d shown up on their doorstep about a year ago, just a puppy then. He still acted like a puppy, but was in a grown dog’s body.
Natalie Worthington rolled over and looked out the window. The snow was still coming down like heavy rain.
Pulling the blankets up beneath her chin, she considered the possibility of staying in bed all day.
Less than four long years ago, she could have done it. That was before her father had left for the war and her mother was still alive.
But now her nine-year-old brother, Declan, was asleep down the hall and it was her responsibility to make sure he was fed and did his chores.
Finding enough food for him to eat was a full-time job.
The two of them worked from sunup to sundown just trying to survive.
Declan had gotten good at chopping firewood and liked to be outside.
Even today with the snow coming down, he’d see going outside to gather firewood as a grand adventure.
Unfortunately, that left Natalie with a world of other things to do. Like making sure Declan had dry clothes.
And lots of food to eat.
The Yankees had been through here about six months ago.
No matter what Doc said, Natalie believed that having the Yankees sitting on her settee was what sent her mother to her grave.
The Yankees had been cordial enough and had been respectful enough — contrary to the stories she’d heard about the havoc the enemy sometimes wreaked. Unfortunately, war was still war.
But without the war and their dreaded blue uniforms, the captain and his men would have been welcome guests in their home.
They had taken over the downstairs part of the house, leaving Natalie, her brother, and her mother privacy in the upstairs part.
It hadn’t done them much good though. The kitchen was a separate building from the house. A feature common to all southern houses of any size.
So Natalie and her little family had to go downstairs and out the back door to get to the kitchen. That meant that every time her mother walked past the parlor, she saw the enemy lounging on her good furniture.
After the first day of making the trip to the kitchen outside, they’d started hoarding food upstairs to avoid walking past the soldiers three times a day.
The Yankees had been in the house for four days.
Mother had taken sick the same day the Yankees had marched away.
Natalie would have gone into town for the doctor, but the soldiers took the one horse they had left.
War was war.
So she’d sent Declan to the neighbor’s house and asked them to send for the doctor.
When the doctor got there two days later, it was too late.
The doctor said it was her heart.
That it wasn’t something sudden.
It didn’t matter what the doc said, Natalie would go to her own grave knowing it was having Yankees in the house that had killed her. Her mother hadn’t been able to see past the blue uniform.
And the knowledge that her husband was out there somewhere, most likely fighting against men wearing the same color uniform.
Natalie tossed the blankets aside and put her feet on the cold floor.
Shivering, she found her slippers, slipped them on, and wrapped her heavy cloak around her.
She needed to go out to the kitchen and get the fire going for breakfast.
Most days she went by herself out to the kitchen and made breakfast.
But today, she was reluctant to leave without Declan.
She tiptoed down the wide hallway and peeked into her brother’s room.
“Declan?”
One thing she’d learned. Nine-year-old boys could sleep like the dead.
She went over and shook her brother.
He sat up, his eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s snowing. We need to get to the kitchen before we get snowed in here.”
He wiped at his eyes and nodded.
Natalie went back to her own room to get dressed.
She splashed cold water on her face and immediately regretted it as she shivered from the cold water.
She put on her warmest wool dress, thick socks, and her boots. Then put her cloak back on.
She ran a brush through her hair and was ready for the day. Or at least as ready as she was going to be.
She met her brother in the hall. He, too, was wearing warm clothes and a cloak.
“We’ll come back later today and get all our blankets,” she said. “We need to start sleeping in the kitchen. It’ll be easier to keep warm.”
“All right,” Declan said.
She knew Declan didn’t care one way or the other.
As long as he had plenty to eat and a warm place to sleep at night, not much else mattered.
He had a sadness about him now that was unnatural on a nine-year-old boy.
But it couldn’t be helped.
It was the world they lived in.
Natalie focused on just surviving.
They’d survived a Yankee invasion and the loss of their parents. Now they needed to survive the first winter on their own.
They could do it.
Natalie just had to remember everything their parents had done and everything they’d been taught.
Natalie and Declan had done some fast growing up in these four years since the war started and even more since losing their mother.
But she was determined to keep the two of them alive.
Whatever it took.
And today it took moving them out of the big house into the kitchen. Fortunately, the kitchen was as big as many people’s cabins, so it would be so much easier to stay warm in there.
The kitchen had actually become an integral part of their lives. A big stone fireplace for cooking and heating water. They even kept the cast iron bathtub in there so they didn’t have to haul hot water to the house.
Walking together, Biscuit following along at their heels, they made their way down the hallway, down the stairs, and looked at each other before going outside.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No,” Declan said.
But he opened the door anyway.
And they stepped outside into the snowstorm.
It was times like this that Natalie wished her grandfather had built a small cabin for them to live in instead of a grand manor house.
In a cabin, the kitchen would have been inside the house. A much simpler life than tramping through a snow storm… or a rain storm just to get something to eat.
Natalie put her head down as they walked the hundred yards or so to the kitchen.
Biscuit darted around them in his gangly way, stirring up even more clouds of snow.
About halfway to the kitchen, Natalie stopped and, shading her eyes, peered through the snow.
She smelled wood smoke.
There was already smoke coming from the kitchen’s chimney.
She thought back to last night. Had they accidentally left enough wood in the fireplace that had kept burning all night?
No. Not possible. She was very careful about extinguishing the fire before they left the kitchen at night. They couldn’t afford to have the kitchen burn down.
“There’s somebody in the kitchen,” Declan said.
“Wait.” Natalie put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.
It could be Yankees. Or worse. It could be southern renegades.
It would be just the worst luck to survive a Yankee invasion only for them to be taken down by renegades.
Renegades were far more dangerous than soldiers. Soldiers had a code.
Renegades had no code. No honor.
Biscuit took off, running toward the kitchen door. Natalie had to hold Declan back with both hands to keep him from going after the dog.
Even though Biscuit sometimes slept on her bed, Biscuit followed Declan around all day. As far as either of them were concerned, Biscuit was Declan’s dog.
“We’ll look in the window,” she said.
They made their way through the falling snow to the window on this side of the kitchen.
Natalie held a finger up to her lips as they reached the window.
They peered in through the window, but the glass was fogged over.
All Natalie could see was a blazing fire in the fireplace.
She blinked away the snowflakes on her eyelashes and squinted to look closer.
There was a man sitting in front of the fireplace, just off to one side.
He was a Confederate soldier. Natalie could tell immediately by how tattered he looked.
It wasn’t just his tattered uniform that she recognized. She recognized the hunched shoulders and defeated stance even from here.
But he wasn’t close enough for her to recognize his features.
“We have to go back to the house,” she said.
Declan nodded. “Are we gonna shoot him?”
“Are we gonna…” She started to tell him to watch his mouth. Then thought better about it. It was a valid question.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I have to figure it out.”
They walked back through the snow and went back inside the house.
“I’ll get the gun,” Declan said, dashing upstairs.
It was bad when a nine-year-old knew where the guns were.
And even worse that he knew how to shoot. They’d both spent some time outside practicing. But that was so they could hunt for food. At least that’s what she told him.
Something was nagging at the back of her mind.
Something other than the knowledge that they couldn’t just shoot the man. Maybe he was just passing through. Maybe heading home.
And needed someplace warm to rest. Someplace out of the snow.
A minute later, Declan came running back down the stairs with the gun.
“Declan, don’t run with the gun.”
“Sorry,” he said, slowing down a little bit.
She took the gun from him. “We aren’t going to shoot him.”
“Because he’s a southerner?”
“Because it’s wrong to go around shooting people,” she said.
Even Declan could tell the man was a southerner.
Declan looked up at her with big round eyes. “Natalie?”
“What is it?” she asked.
They were standing just inside the front door. What used to be a grand foyer with paintings and a grandfather clock.
But now was just an entranceway. The paintings and clock had been taken by the Yankees. What was left, she and Declan had used for firewood.
“I’m hungry,” Declan said.
They had no food here in the main house. The only way to get something for them to eat was to go into the kitchen.
“Dang it,” Natalie leaned against the wall. There was no easy answer.
“Dang it,” Declan echoed.
Natalie covered her face to hide a smile.
It was times like this that reminded her that he was still just a child.
It was so easy to forget.
Natalie was seventeen. Eight years older than Declan. She should be thinking about getting married about now.
Not contemplating whether or not they were going to have to shoot a man who’d camped out in their kitchen.
Shoot a man or starve.
Surely there was another option.
They’d even stopped keeping firewood in the house.
So if they didn’t get to the kitchen, they would not only starve to death, they’d freeze to death.
She had to do something.
There had to be another answer.
“You stay here,” she said. “I’ll go ask him to leave.”
She checked the gun. To make sure it was loaded, even though she knew it was.
“No,” Declan said. “You can’t go without me.” He was the grown up Declan now.
“You hang back then,” she said. “Did you bring the pistol?”
“I’ll go get it,” he said, then darted back up the stairs to get the pistol.
Natalie stood tall and steeled herself. She had to do it. She had to confront the man. Ask him to leave. He could sleep in the stables if he needed a place to stay.
Declan made it back with the other gun and they set off again. Into the cold, blinding snow.
“Remember,” Natalie said. “You hang back in case I need help. We have to believe he’s a peaceful man until we learn otherwise.”
Declan grinned through chattering teeth. “Innocent until proven guilty,” he said.
“Exactly.”
Declan stopped at the edge of the kitchen building.
Natalie straightened her shoulders and moved forward.
She could do this.
If not for herself, for Declan.
She lifted up the rifle and put her hand on the doorknob.
Just get this over with.
She opened the door slowly.
The man turned and looked at her.
He had a heavy beard. And like she’d noticed before, his clothes and demeanor were tattered. Tired.
She held the gun up, pointing it at his chest. The gun was heavy. And she knew she couldn’t hold it like this very long.
She had to be quick.
“Sir,” she said. “I must ask you to leave my home.” She shifted her hold on the gun. “You’re welcome to stay in our barn if you need a place to weather the storm.”
The man straightened, but didn’t stand. Looked right at her and squinted.
