Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
He sounded like a parent, asking a question and scolding me at the same time. Me and the guy who’d wanted to shoot me, and his dog, were all in the same boat.
“I got lost,” I rushed out, sounding shaky, which I was. “I was trying to find Osprey, but I think the directions I was given were faulty.”
“I expect they were,” the man leading the horse told me. He stepped around the other and offered me his hand. “I am Albert Callaway, this is my father, Barrett, and my unfortunate cousin Clemson.”
“Albert, I will—”
“Silence,” Barrett ordered, and Clemson stopped talking and glowered at me.
“I’m Xander Sterling,” I said, substituting my best friend’s last name for mine, as Corey didn’t seem safe to use. “I’m very sorry I hit your dog,” I apprised Clemson, “but I was afraid he was going to kill me.”
He was still scowling, but he acknowledged my apology with a nod.
“Why were you traveling to Osprey?” Barrett asked me. “Do you have family there, lad?”
“No,” I lied, because there was no way Mr. Corey—who I could guess was Giles—would do anything but have me shot. “I need to find work and a place to stay.”
“Come with us now, Xander. We will carry you into town.”
I smiled. “Thank you so much.”
As soon as we started moving, the five dogs running ahead, the foxes forgotten, I knew where I was. We were on the edge of Corvus and the Wingate Farm that in my time belonged to my friends Charles and Allie. It was strange to see none of the buildings I knew and no wide driveway that delivery trucks rolled up and down. Of course, at the moment, everything was covered in ankle-deep snow, but all I could feel under the soles of my duck boots, that I hoped no one noticed, was mud. No gravel. The weirdest part was that there were no signs of the farm at all.
“I thought the Wingate Farm was out here,” I commented.
“Everything you see belongs to Mr. Corey,” Barrett informed me. “No one else owns land for miles.”
I cleared my throat. “I thought the Corey land only covered a few acres.”
He barked out a laugh. “I cannot say how big the property is, but it far exceeds a few.”
I was a mess, and I knew that. I should have been focused on Lorne, nothing else. But the news that Corvus was expanded hurt down to my soul. Everything about the land was intentional and the will of every single member of my family from the first and reaching all the way to me. The number of acres—twenty-two—was sacrosanct, the wards that had taken everything to make—tears, blood, anguish, and joy—the ley lines, the deep, sacred earth magic created to be spiritually and physically in alignment…all that, without thought, without caring for anyone but himself… Giles had destroyed for his greed. My grandmother had told me to save my family, but I didn’t know how to do that without restoring the land.
“Are you well, lad?” Barrett asked me, sounding concerned.
“Yes, sir,” I barely got out.
“Then come along to the road so we can unload and get Troy here hitched up to the wagon before we all turn to ice.”
Troy was a very large Clydesdale, which was probably working for him in the frigid air. I was so caught up in my admiration of his calm nature in contrast to the dogs that for a moment I didn’t notice the mansion to my right.
Reaching the dirt road—now mud-covered—I was surprised how wide it was. Cider Lane, where Corvus was, had always been two lanes. Here it was easily six. The trees that had been there forever—oaks, maples, white pine, beech, black spruce—were all gone. Cleared to make room for a road.
I was overwhelmed and had to pull myself together, but the things I usually leaned on in nature and in my soul were also gone. I’d never hated winter before, but now, with how desolate I felt, the cold was leeching the warmth from everything.
Standing on the road, I noted all the horse-drawn carriages rolling by us. Big and small, drawn by two horses or four, all were beautiful and made me feel like I’d been dropped into the middle of a Jane Austen novel. It was funny, but just thinking about something I loved, like those books, helped me breathe.
“We have to stop by the home there,” Barrett informed me, tipping his head up the road to where another carriage turned into a wide circular drive, “to get our payment from MacBain, Mr. Corey’s house steward.”
“MacBain,” I repeated with a gasp I quickly swallowed.
“Yes, do you know the man?”
“Only by reputation.”
He nodded. “Well, how he has survived in the service of a tyrant like Giles Corey all these years, being as he seems, a godly man, I cannot say.”