Bride of the Frontier (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 3) Page 6

  “I agree.”

  Logan and I retire to my office, with a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. We spend the rest of the evening drinking and playing poker. We don’t discuss the prophecy or Birdie for the rest of the night. It’s a nice break from what has happened the past twenty-four hours.

  Chapter Seven

  BIRDIE

  Once Martha helps me out of my stupid corset, I almost beg her for some meat and potatoes, because I can still smell it, but I decide against it. I decide against it mainly because as she helps me into my nightgown, she shows me the bathroom.

  Using the title bathroom is a bit of an overstatement. It’s essentially an indoor closet with a hole. Nothing more. I should be grateful it’s indoors and if this man wasn’t someone important, it probably wouldn’t be.

  “I’ll have a bath arranged in the morning before you break your fast,” Martha announces, then quickly spins around and leaves me alone.

  Staring at the small door lock, I think about not bothering, because it looks so flimsy, I doubt it would even hold anyone back if they wanted to get into the space. Walking over to the bed, I pull back the covers and slide between them.

  I’m surprised by how soft the cotton sheets are and I wonder how on earth they make it like this. It seriously feels like a fancy hotel, not that I have a lot of experience staying in them, I’ve only been in one and that was because a client was getting married at one and bought my room for the night.

  Looking at the closed door, I gently reach for the handle of the nightstand drawer and slowly tug it open. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I debate taking the leather-bound journal out, or being a decent human and leaving it untouched and unread.

  In the end, my curiosity wins over my decency. Taking the leather-bound book out of the drawer, I hold it close to the small lantern and open it to the first page. Just as I suspected, it’s a diary in a woman’s handwriting. I start to read with enthusiasm.

  This war is ugly. I am unsure what the future holds not only for me, but for my country. I’m also unsure of what all of this means for Colton and our sweet Temperance.

  My heart hurts that he cannot be with us during this time. He has missed so much of our daughter’s life already. The war has stolen so much from every family and we are not immune to its treacheries.

  I lift my watery eyes from the pages and close the book, too afraid that my tears will begin to fall and I’ll ruin the beautiful script writing. He was married with a child. He’s obviously not any longer, but he was and my entire heart aches at what that could mean.

  I try not to cry, but I fail. I fail tremendously. Tears begin to flow in a stream down both of my cheeks. I debate putting the diary away, but then I decide that I can’t.

  Whoever this woman is, she needs to be heard. She wrote these words for a reason and she must be remembered, Temperance must be remembered.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and attempt to calm myself, then I open the journal again and continue. The rain starts to fall outside, and I’m not sure if it’s normal in this dry place for an out of the blue rainstorm, but it doesn’t matter, I’m too immersed in this story to worry about that.

  I read and read. I don’t stop until the sun comes up. The only breaks that I take are crying ones. I try to keep my composure, but I’m not very good at it apparently because as the sun rises, my eyes ache. I know they are probably puffy and rimmed in red, but the story is heartbreaking, all of it.

  Temperance and the woman, her name never mentioned, don’t survive. Their home is overrun by the enemy and though she survives far too long in their clutches, she must have been put out of her misery because it ends and nothing else is ever written.

  Gently closing the book, I wrap it in its leather binding, and slip it back in the nightstand drawer. I understand this man a bit better now that I’ve read about his wife, about his daughter, and no doubt the hells that they ultimately did not survive.

  I stare at nothingness as I think about what I’ve just read. I don’t know what to do. I feel absolutely helpless, then I think about how Colt must have felt. No doubt he went home to her after the war, home to find her gone. Then he became some type of huge leader, like the president, and he’s all alone.

  He’s achieved so much and his wife never saw any of it come to fruition. All this does is make me want to get to know this man better.

  This man whose wife was so strong, who fought for her life and her daughter’s. Who ultimately had to succumb to the hell and torture that the enemy no doubt put her through.

  Mrs. James was strong. Whoever she was. Leaning back against the headboard, I try not to think about what she went through. Though judging by the shaky handwriting in the last few entries and the way she described the men forcing themselves on her hour after hour, day by day, I know that it was a lot.

  The door flies open just as I’m wiping some of the new tears from my eyes. Martha stands in front of me, her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side.

  “You best not tell him you found it, or lead him to believe you know anything about late Adelaide James, the saint that she was,” Martha booms.

  “How did you…?” I ask.

  Martha smiles sadly, shaking her head. “You’re in her room. Though she never resided here. Mr. James made it clear her things were to be put in here as if she were still among us. A way for him to grieve in his own manly way, I suppose.”

  “It’s like she’s going to walk through the door at any moment,” I whisper.

  Martha dips her chin. “He’s not brain-addled, just very sad with no real closure.”

  “I can understand that,” I whisper.

  Though, I have no idea how he must feel, that doesn’t mean that I can’t sympathize with him. I can’t imagine losing my entire family, a husband and child. My sisters being missing doesn’t even compare, though my entire being aches about that knowledge, so I’m sure it’s a million times more intense for Colt.

  “Your bath will be here shortly,” she announces, though not as curtly as I expect. She’s softened slightly toward me.

  Clearing my throat, I lift my hand to stop her from leaving. She dips her chin in a short nod, a slight encouragement to continue. “How long ago was this?” I ask on a whisper.

  Her brows snap together. “The war?” Nodding my head, I bite the inside of my cheek. Martha continues to frown, then decides to finally answer me. “It was about eight years ago.”

  She doesn’t stay around to allow me to ask any more questions. Instead, she spins around and walks out of the room. A few moments later a tub is brought to me and she appears again to help me bathe.

  Normally, taking a bath would be something that I do alone, but Martha has already seen everything that I have to offer and since I’m not sure how any of this stuff works or what soaps go where, I can use all the help that I can get.

  COLT

  Mrs. Whitecotton makes the announcement of her appearance in the only way possible for the woman that she is. I hear the front door slam against the wall as she pushes it open, then she rushes into my office, a flurry of wild gray hair and colorful fabrics.

  “Mrs. Whitecotton,” I murmur as I stand and bow slightly in her direction.

  “Colton James, I’ve known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper, you best get over here and give me some sugar,” she snaps.

  Logan chuckles from his place across from my desk. Mrs. Whitecotton doesn’t miss a beat, her head moves to the side and she narrows her gaze on the man. “You best get over here too, boy. Lucky I don’t tell your mother you’re gallivanting around and you haven’t been to see her.”

  “Sorry, Grandma,” Logan mutters as he rises.

  We both give Mrs. Whitecotton a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Now then, that’s taken care of so let’s have a seat and none of this Mrs. Whitecotton stuff, you’ll call me Grandma and Florence.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Logan and I say in unison.

  She dips her chin as s
he sinks down in the chair that Logan just vacated. He brings one of the chairs that’s in front of the small table we used for whiskey and poker last night and pulls it up next to her. They’re both sitting across from me, but I can’t focus on him at all. She is all that I see.

  “Now that we’ve got all of that straightened out. Let’s talk about the prophecy.”

  “You know?” I ask.

  She nods her head. “I do. I was far too curious about why you would have me rush on over here. Especially, knowing how much I prefer to stay home. So, I meditated on that, asked the higher powers for guidance and the gods spoke to me.”

  I almost laugh. If she didn’t know why she’d been called here already, I think that I might laugh right in her face. The gods speaking to her is hilarious, except for the simple fact that she is correct in the reason we called her here.

  “Tell us what you know, Grandma, please,” Logan pleads.

  She nods her head again, her eyes lifting to find mine. Her lips curve up into a grin as she silently watches me for a moment.

  “Oh, I know plenty,” she begins. Her voice is soft as she starts to speak. She begins by telling us the prophecy, something that I have never heard in my entire life.

  “The gods casted this foreshadowing, the prophecy, across the entire world centuries ago. Long before there were written scrolls to properly record such things. Later, when writing and paper became accessible, the men of the gods recorded it, and that is all we have to go by, that and stories passed down from generation to generation.”

  “What does it say?” I ask, no doubt sounding as impatient as I feel.

  Florence arches a brow and shakes her head once, but thankfully doesn’t keep me in suspense any longer.

  “It is said, that there will be four sisters. These four sisters will be born not of this world. Four sisters who are born of the same mother and father, yet do not share the same appearance. They are the only ones of their kind in the entire universe. Across our world and all others.

  “Four sisters will marry and love the fiercest warriors from all four corners of our world. Once all four relationships are consummated, the events foretold in the prophecy will be set in motion, becoming unstoppable.

  “If the four sisters come together once their fate has been sealed, they will absorb all of the powers this world holds. Four sisters will be the most powerful creatures in this world. It is not known if this will be used for good or evil.

  “The future is uncertain and unknown if these sisters gather together in our world. Only the fates know what the final outcome will be.”

  “What does this mean?” I demand.

  “That is all that I know. There is so much unknown about this, mainly because it was sanctioned by the gods, but also because it’s all just lore and rumors. So many lifetimes have passed where nothing has come to fruition that nobody thought it would ever actually happen.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes for a moment. Inhaling a deep breath, I open them and shake my head once. “I am the first toleration leader of our country, ever.”

  “Which would make sense as to why it is happening now. Though, I will not be sure of this woman until I meet her.”

  “How about some breakfast?” I ask.

  Florence nods her head as she rises to her feet. Logan and I both stand as well. Together, the three of us make our way to the dining room. Ernest is standing next to the door waiting for us.

  “Will you please inform Miss Birdie that we will break our fast and her presence is requested?”

  Without a word, Ernest dips his chin in a nod and turns from us to head upstairs. Florence, Logan, and I make our way into the dining room. I have the strong urge to go and gather Birdie up on my own, but I resist it, unsure of my true feelings and what is possibly manifested falsely by witchcraft.

  Chapter Eight

  BIRDIE

  Martha rushes me out of the bedroom and downstairs as Ernest watches me with his hawk-like gaze. I know his name now, and no longer have to think of him as Stick-Up-His-Ass-Dude, but I still kind of think of him that way, especially the way he’s watching me as I brush past him. I choose to ignore him and his obviously judgmental gaze.

  Making my way downstairs, I clear my throat right before I enter the dining room. Though, taking one step inside of the room, I freeze at the sight before me.

  I was only expecting Logan and Colt again. Instead, I’m met with the wild-eyed gaze of a woman whose hair rivals the pure wilderness in her eyes. She stands, walking around the table and I blink at the sight of her brightly colored dress. It is not only bright, but the pattern is like paisley. It’s beautiful and eclectic just like her.

  “You’re full of magic, dear girl,” she whispers as soon as she’s directly in front of me.

  My eyes widen and I dip my chin to look down at her since she’s a few inches shorter than I am. I shake my head. “Please don’t, I don’t, please don’t tell them that I do,” I beg.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, they know you were sent by the gods. They know there is something magical happening with you, and I’m not sure you realize your abilities, but you indeed hold magic.”

  “What?” I breathe.

  She grins, spins around and practically flies back over to her chair. Colt jerks his head from her to me, then begins to make his way toward me. Each step that he takes, I can’t help but think of Adelaide—his wife.

  What would his life look like if she were here with him? Would he smile? I try to picture him without the scowl and furrowed brow.

  I try to imagine an easygoing smile on his lips. It’s hard, and I find that it’s almost impossible to envision. His eyes hold horrors and a depth that I don’t think I could ever attempt to completely understand.

  He tugs the chair out that’s directly in front of me and dips his chin. Walking around the offered chair, I start to sink down and allow him to push it beneath me.

  I’m silently cursing the corset once again as soon as my ass hits the seat. I know without a doubt that I’ll be leaving this dinner table starving, but unable to eat.

  Once we’re all seated, I am hoping that they’ll tell me what the hell is going on. There’s a crazy lady staring at me and Logan is watching me as if he’s trying to force something out of me, but I’m not sure what it is exactly. I feel supremely uncomfortable.

  Martha appears a few moments later with some more soup and fresh bread. I remind myself what happened the last time I scarfed the soup and bread down and I inhale as deep of a breath as I can in an attempt to remember not to lose my shit and overeat the soup.

  When she leaves, only then does Colt clear his throat. I expect him to begin speaking, but he doesn’t, the wild-eyed older woman decides to talk instead. She tells me about their gods, explains how they ruled this world at one time and they battled and created different aspects of things that we use today.

  I’m not sure where their gods fit in to anything, until she tells me a tale about a prophecy.

  “So, you think that my sisters and I are somehow connected to this?” I demand.

  “Do you have a better explanation of how you ended up here?” she snaps. “And how you hold magic that you don’t understand how to yield?”

  “What magic?” I growl.

  She leans back, snatching a piece of crusty bread as she does. I try not to let my drool slide down my chin at the sight of her taking a huge chunk from the bread while I nibble on the smallest pieces known to man.

  The woman’s lips twitch into a smile. “I’m Florence, by the way, Logan’s grandmother.” I blink hard at that information and tilt my head to the side to look at her, to really look at her. They have the same nose, chin, and complexion but not the same eye color, not by a longshot.

  “Did you hear the rain last night?” she asks.

  Nodding my head, I take my soup spoon and lift it to my lips, only taking a small taste of the delicious warm soup.

  “It doesn’t rain this time of year, ever.
Were you crying?”

  I blink. My eyes wide as my spoon slips from my grasp and clatters against the bowl. “I was,” I whisper.

  “I’m sure you have other powers, but intense emotions typically bring the ones connected to the weather. I’m sure your sisters have them as well. I would guess you all have a specific power as well as you are able to affect the weather with your emotions.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

  Florence gives me a grin. “There is nothing to say. This is what has been decided by the gods, I am not the one who has done this, neither have you. We are not always in control of our destiny, Birdie. The gods have a hand and sometimes they meddle.”

  “You’re telling me thousands of years ago some gods meddled in my future life and that I have magic?” I hiss.

  My breathing becomes panicked. I start to almost hyperventilate, but I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs to even do that. Shaking my head, I try to keep from passing out, but things start to get blurry and darkness starts to creep into the sides of my vision.

  “Colton, she needs her laces loosened,” I hear Martha call out from somewhere in the distance, but it’s too late, the darkness turns to black and everything around me disappears.

  COLT

  I watch her from the chair that I’ve dragged to the side of her bed. I know that she is breathing, that she is well, and she’s just been overly excited while wearing her corset. I had forgotten how quickly a fainting spell could come on in a heated moment.

  Adelaide always had her laces pulled just a tad too tight and would pass out at the drop of a hat. Why women wish to be that uncomfortable just for the appearance of a bit smaller waist, I will never know nor understand.

  Birdie begins to stir and I watch her. She looks nothing like Adelaide. She’s raven-haired, my Addie was fair. She is extremely slight in figure, though not so slight that I can forget she is indeed a woman. Addie was curvy, almost plump, though I never minded as it suited her, even if she always complained.