Love's Fortune (37 page)

Give me but one hour of Scotland,

Let me see it ere I die.

W
ILLIAM
A
YTOUN

S
COTLAND
M
AY
1851

There was an echo of Kentucky in these hills, the same wild beauty she’d been born to. Walking hand in hand with James down a ribbon of road that curled and dipped amid bracken and heather and wandering sheep, Wren pondered why it held no strangeness. No doubt it was the man beside her who had made all the difference to her homesick heart.

She looked back over her shoulder to their honeymoon retreat with a sigh. After a three-month idyll, the Ballantynes’ country estate felt like home, inhabited by a skeleton staff of servants who called them a pair of turtledoves and left them mostly alone. Pearl-white and nested in all the greens
of spring, the Ballantyne mansion was far younger than Blair Castle with its stony grandeur farther down the road but retained a charm all its own.

“I wish Grandfather was here.” She couldn’t help but think of him. Scotland was full of reminders of the Ballantynes and their beginnings. “Granny too.”

With a small smile James clasped her hands, helping her over a stone dike. “They’re on their way.”

“What?” She fastened surprised eyes on him as her boots sank into loamy ground.

“Silas wants to see Scotland again and hear you play the Guarneri. They should arrive in time for your concert at the castle.”

She studied him, still disbelieving. “That’s not till Lammas, the first of August.” Would his health hold? Would Granny’s? On a strange ship with few comforts? It had taken her and James forty days to reach Glasgow from New Orleans, much of it spent leaning over a basin or the ship’s railing. Once on land she was little better, though she had a better excuse.

“The doctors are against his traveling but he’s determined. Your father and Mina are coming with them.”

She expelled a relieved breath. “I’m glad.” She was just getting used to the fact that Papa and Mina were engaged, further tying the Ballantyne and Cameron and Turlock clans into an inseparable knot. “And Bennett?” She spoke the name with trepidation, having forgiven him the theft of the Nightingale if she’d not forgotten.

“Silas sent him to California in hopes to make a man of him.” At her raised brows, he winked. “His words, not mine.”

She smiled. “Grandfather is coming for more than the concert, surely.”

“Great-grandchildren are a great motivator to cross an ocean.”

Her heart lifted, thinking of the joys to come. Izannah’s first child was expected in autumn, and she and Malachi had taken up residence in Edinburgh till then. The Caledonian Railway often took Wren and James to the Camerons’ elegant townhouse. They’d agreed to be godparents when the time came.

Looking down, Wren touched her rounded waist with gentle hands. “It’s a race to see who’ll be born first—a Sackett or a Cameron.”

“We’ll be settled in our own house by then.”

She looked up at him, rocked by the second surprise in as many minutes.

Bending down, he plucked a bluebell and tucked it into her flyaway braid. “I’ve just purchased the old abandoned property near the kirk we’ve been attending. You said it reminded you of Cane Run.”

“The Duncan place?” Overcome, she threw her arms around him, the wool of his coat scratching her cheek. “Ours for keeps?”

He gathered her closer, his jaw resting atop her head. “It’s not large as country houses go, but it has a music room and a connecting study where I can work on Ballantyne business abroad.”

“And a nursery?”

“A nursery large enough for a dozen Sacketts.”

With a joyful laugh she started away from him, the fringe of her shawl teased by the Highland wind.

“Where are you going, Wren?”

“Home, Jamie.” She held out both hands to him. “Home at last.”

I have long been an admirer of Samuel Clemens. Thanks to him, a treasure trove of information exists on “gentlemen of the navigation,” as they were aptly named in nineteenth-century America. As he observed in 
Life
on
the
Mississippi
, the pilot surpassed a steamboat’s captain in prestige and authority; it was a rewarding occupation with wages set at $250 per month. A steamboat pilot needed to know the ever-changing river to be able to stop at the hundreds of ports and woodlots. Clemens studied two thousand miles of the Mississippi for more than two years before he received his steamboat pilot license in 1859. This occupation gave him his pen name, Mark Twain, from the cry for a measured river depth of two fathoms.

There was indeed a Mystic Clan/Conspiracy and Island 37 operating in this time period, causing a great deal of trouble for a young man by the name of Virgil Stewart. Later, Stewart helped convict the river bandit John Murrell and published an account by this unforgettable title:
A
History of the De
tection, Conviction, Life and Designs of John
A. Murrell, the Great Western Land Pirate; Together with His
System of Villainy and Plan of Exciting a Negro Rebellion
, and a Catalogue of the Names of Four Hundred and
Forty Five of His Mystic Clan Fellows and Followers and
Their Efforts for the Destruction of Mr. Virgil A. Stewart
, the Young Man Who Detected Him, to Which Is Added
Biographical Sketch of Mr. Virgil A. Stewart.
Ironically, Murrell was the son of a circuit-riding preacher and became a Christian and blacksmith upon his release from prison.

Pittsburgh’s high society was both decadent and rule-bound by midcentury. Many of America’s leading citizens, both financiers and industrialists, came from this great city. My apologies to natives/residents for making Pittsburgh appear so dark and for calling Cincinnati “a big bully of a city.” Both places are incredibly rich in history and culture and are beautiful riverfront destinations today. My time in both has been more rewarding than I can recount here.

Special thanks to the Pennsylvania judge who told me about Pittsburgh brides needing to be wrapped in sheets lest they be blackened by the soot of the city when the Industrial Revolution was at its height. These are the little details that make a historical novel leap to life.

I owe a deep debt of gratitude to the remarkable resource
Hill’s Manual of Social
and Business Forms
by Thomas E. Hill. Beautifully illustrated, this antique book is a treasure trove of information about nineteenth-century life, particularly genteel society. Exquisite history, indeed!

A book is an endeavor of many hands, heads, and hearts. Heartfelt thanks to my agent Janet Grant and the entire Revell team for bringing the Ballantyne Legacy series to life. Your commitment to publishing edifying books of all kinds inspires and blesses me.

Special thanks to Brandon Hill and crew for creating such memorable cover art. My time in the Seattle studio for
Love’s Fortune
was amazing and unforgettable! I’m also very grateful for the fine video work done by Brandon Hill and Keith Bolling/Session 7 Media for this series.

HUGE thanks to Renee C. (and Coco!), both Pennsylvania natives, who have been incredibly encouraging as I wrote about the Ballantynes (and not only the Ballantynes). Reading friends like you make publishing amazing, and your savvy book reviews mean more than you know! I wish I could thank everyone by name who has been a part of this journey.

Your name and renown

are the desire of our hearts.

Isa. 26:8 NIV

Laura Frantz
is a Christy Award finalist and the author of
The Frontiersman’s Daughter
,
Courting Morrow
Little
,
The Colonel’s Lady
,
Love’s Reckoning
, and
Love
’s Awakening
. She is a Kentuckian currently living in the misty woods of Washington with her husband and two sons. Along with traveling, cooking, gardening, and long walks, she enjoys connecting with readers at
www.LauraFrantz.net
.

The Frontiersman’s Daughter

Courting Morrow Little

The Colonel’s Lady

T
HE
B
ALLANTYNE
L
EGACY

Love’s Reckoning

Love’s Awakening

Love’s Fortune

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