Crossings: A Sovereign Guardians Novel

Crossings

A Sovereign Guardians Novel

Susan Collins

Text copyright © 2015 Susan Collins

All Rights Reserved

With love for Terrell, Brett, Sadie, and Gage

Chapter One

I felt his gaze before I saw him.

Brown eyes surrounded by even darker lashes. His face framed by hair the color of midnight. He stood there at the edge of the trees.

Silent.

Still.

Staring at the place where I stood.

I can't explain how I knew his attention was solely on me, but every hair on the back of my neck was tingling. I watched him, my view unfettered except for a few slanting shadows cast from the branches of a two hundred-year-old maple tree, one of many that lined the gravel road leading to the main house at Fairvue.

Fairvue was beautiful to me. The farm and its house had been in my family for generations. It was good to be home now, even on such a solemn occasion. I had always believed there was something magical about coming home to Fairvue.

Only not today. Today was different.

There was no magic. I was frozen. I felt nothing.

Until I saw his eyes.

I watched as his lips parted. For a moment I believed he was about to say my name, though how he would have known who I was made no sense. He was a total stranger to me despite his presence at this private, family gathering.

There was no time now to ponder the handsome distraction. Gran was calling my name, beckoning for me to join her. Most likely my summons was, I was sure, to be introduced to yet some other ancient person from the town of Jasper who meant to regale me with more stories of my father's ill-behaved youth and his boyhood days spent either farming the three hundred acres of the family lands in Tennessee or stirring up trouble on one of the neighboring farms.

All of the stories I heard were the same.

They all told the tale of Gerald Saunders meeting my mother, Charlotte Matthews, falling in love at the tender age of fifteen, and finally three years later marrying the woman who would never live to know me. I would have to smile and nod and endure the recollections of their love that always ended with losing the mother I never knew and my father's heartbreak.

Each time it was the same no matter which group of people I joined. When they reached the end of their words, they could no longer look me in the eye. They would remember, too late perhaps, that I would not want to hear out loud the story that was my life. Their discomfort would become a palpable force in the air around us.

I always knew what I must do to help them, and so to ease their discomfort I would plaster a smile on my face as the memories paused on their lips. I pretended the words didn't hurt. The need to be kind is a curse that runs through the veins of all Southern women so much so that at times I feel like I might combust from the effort to not offend.

Today I will do what I must and be proper and good. I will do this for Gran.

I have been told repeatedly that my father and mother were so in love that no one, including my grandmother, blinked an eye when they married at such a young age, both eighteen. The three years they had as man and wife were supposedly the happiest anyone ever saw my father. And no one, I have learned, faulted him for dying inside when she left this world on the night of my birth.

I have listened and heard their whispers. I know that none of the people gathered here at our family's cemetery appear surprised to see my father in the grave at such an early age. Yet what does seem to astonish the people of this town is that he managed to hang on for seventeen years after my mother's death before going to join her.

Oh yes. Today whispers are everywhere.

Of course, each person has a theory to share on how Gerald Saunders managed to live without the love of his life as long as he did. Comments drift on the wind to my ears. How he hadn't really been living at all since her death, wandering the country, never coming home for long.

I shrug off the resentment I feel building as I understand their words never condemn him for leaving his only child to be raised in a series of boarding schools - schools my father had insisted upon, even though everyone knew his own mother would have gladly raised her only grandchild.

I look at the crowd of mourners. Their eyes focused on me. Obviously, I had not been the inspiration for my father's survival after my mother's death. In my father's eyes I was quite the opposite. I was the catalyst of his demise.

My birth caused her death.

I was the reason for all his sorrow from that point on. I was the child he could never accept and could certainly never love.

Gran reached out and touched my arm, bringing me back to the present. I stood at her side, quite sure I was about to endure yet another story about a man I had barely known and for whom I felt no grief over his passing. That is, of course, unless one counted the small hole in my heart where deep down I knew my father's love should have been.

Today Gerald Saunders was being buried.
Laid to rest
was the euphemism the preacher used at the church during his brief eulogy about someone he really didn't know either. I believe my father was a man no one here knew anymore except for maybe Gran. Why else would those gathered only talk about his past? The man who had existed since my birth was not the person they
mourned
today.

Gran's arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close to her side. Her five foot frame seemed small and fragile as I stood nearly seven inches taller than her. The inner strength in her was unmistakable though as she stood beside me and held me tight.

I wasn't sure if she needed my support or simply wanted to give me hers. Either way, I didn't mind. This was the one person I loved most in the world.

Gran was the only relative I had now. My mother's parents had died in a car wreck not long before her eighteenth birthday. I sometimes wondered if they had lived, if my own parents would have waited until they were older to marry. Based on what I knew, they probably would have married young no matter the circumstances. My mother had no brothers or sisters, so with her own death there was no other family left except my father and his mother. Gran's auburn hair was now heavily sprinkled with gray. Her blue eyes were no longer as bright as they once had been. My eyes filled with tears when I thought about how much I loved her. If anything happened to her...well, I simply couldn't think about that.

"Pagan, dear." Gran's voice was strong and clear despite that today she was burying her only child. "Pagan, I want you to say hello to our closest neighbor, Mac Sorenson. I'm sure you remember Mac even though you didn't see him during your last few visits home. He owns the property that adjoins our farm. You know, Mac has helped me out for years. I think of him as family."

I turned in Mac's direction to make the polite responses I knew were required. Yet before any words were spoken, I noticed several things. Mac looked to be in his early seventies and near Gran's age. I could tell by the slight blush on his cheeks from my grandmother's praise and by the way he looked at her, that she wasn't simply being nice when she spoke about this man. There was genuine affection between these two and maybe, if the admiration in his eyes as he looked at her was not just my imagination, maybe there was even something more between the two of them.

Mac Sorenson did seem familiar to me. I had stayed at Gran's for only longer periods of time when I was much younger. Those extended visits were before my father had insisted I be sent off to boarding school and rarely allowed to come home. When I did come back to Fairvue to visit, the time I was there had usually been confined to my room with Gran as my only company. I was glad to know that while I had been away, my grandmother had someone who helped look after her and the farm. I didn't hesitate to extend my hand, placing my palm in the man's firm grasp. He shook my hand only a minute before letting me slip back beside Gran.

I'd always heard you could tell a lot about a person from a handshake. Mac seemed like the type of person I would want on my side.

"Now, Ms. Ellie," Mac said more to my grandmother than to me. "It's been a long time since I saw this young lady. She probably doesn't even remember me." His brown eyes twinkled as he threw out the challenge.

"Sure I do," I responded a little too quickly, knowing I had only a few distant memories of a younger version of this man wearing overalls and helping me learn to ride my bike down the long, gravel driveway that lead to the two story farmhouse at Fairvue.

There was another memory surfacing of a plastic orange bucket swinging from my hand and perhaps it was him letting me pick strawberries at his own farm. I did clearly remember a strawberry patch that grew much better tasting berries than Gran's. I was fairly certain this man before me was simply an older version of the one from my memories.

"Last time I saw you, Pagan, you were only about so high." He held his hand about four feet off the ground. "You were wearing that long, curly auburn hair of yours in two pig tails and prancing around Ellie's house on a stick horse named Lightening. You claimed that horse could take you all the way around the world so fast your Gran wouldn't even know you were gone before you would already be back." He smiled at the memory, and for a moment, I too could visualize that small girl.

"She always did have a vivid imagination," Gran interrupted before I could be further embarrassed.

"That's probably why they sent me off to boarding school," I interjected smoothly, thinking of my time away for once without the bitterness I usually felt when I mentioned my forced exile from the farm. I smiled to soften my words as I spoke.

"No chance of running over any of the neighbors with my trusty stick horse if I wasn't here. Nothing like finding the perfect boarding school to mold me into a proper, Southern lady," I lightly joked.

"I think we both know, Pagan Saunders, that isn’t the real reason they sent you away."

I startled at the interruption and turned to face the male voice who had intruded. It only took a quick look for me to realize it was the same stranger who had been watching me earlier. Once again I felt his direct gaze, his eyes never leaving mine as he moved to stand beside Mac.

Up close he was even more handsome than I had first believed. It was ridiculous how nervous I had suddenly become. I had been around plenty of guys my own age before. The various schools I had attended had all been co-ed, so I had been through my share of awkward first dates. That there were never any second dates or anything more than brief kisses had always been my choice. The fact that rude, dark, and brooding boy had my undivided attention was a new, but surprisingly not totally unpleasant, experience.

"I'm sorry," I spoke to our new arrival, my voice sounding huskier than normal. "You obviously know my name and seem to think you know something about me. Should I know you?" My last sentence came out ruder than I had intended. Gran's slight frown confirmed my manners were slipping.

Before the object of my verbal attack could answer, Mr. Mac spoke up.

"Pagan, you haven't been home for a visit since Keller Jones joined us. He's living in my rental house at the edge of the property that borders Fairvue. This young man has been a big help to Ellie and me since he moved into town."

Gran was smiling now and nodding her agreement as she added, "We hired Keller, together, on a trial basis, but it didn't take us long to see that with both Mac and myself getting older, we needed a hard worker like him at both our farms. We were able to make a deal, and this young man agreed to work for each of us. Between the two farms keeping him busy, he doesn't have much time for anything else."

I wondered how long Keller had been helping out and why I hadn't seen him yet at Gran's farm, but then I had only been home for a few days. It seemed I had missed out on a lot during my time away. Being gone from Fairvue was something I vowed would not happen again, especially now that Gran was truly alone. I hadn't talked to her yet about the possibility of my staying on permanently and finishing out my education at the local high school, but it was a conversation I planned for us to have very soon.

As other friends of the family walked up, Gran and Mac drifted away with the latest crowd of people, and I found myself alone with Keller.

"So," I deliberately raised my left eyebrow as I spoke. It was a move I'd perfected over the years to silently warn others to back off. I wondered if Keller would be different than the others who usually heeded the warning.

"Why do you think I was sent off to boarding school if not to save the neighbors from my wild ways as a child?"

Keller laughed. The sound was quick and easy as if he laughed often. I couldn't stop my own mouth from curving into a responsive smile even though I was still annoyed.

"Obviously, I've caused offense," he stated. "I didn't mean to offend you, love. I simply assumed you were sent off to boarding school because you are a little too-"

"Yes?" My tone dared him to finish the words he'd left unsaid while my mind was reeling at his casual use of an endearment.

He didn't answer immediately. It was then I noticed his thumb moving absently over the ring he wore, twirling it around his finger. The band of silver had an unusual design on it. Before I could think any more about it, Keller finally responded.

"Well, sweetheart, if I were going to give a reason, I would say you are just a little too much for Jasper, Tennessee. I'm not saying you aren't the perfect Southern lady because I'm certain you are, or else those little kitten claws you've got curved into your hands right now would be tearing at my eyes. I'm simply saying that a school far away from here is undoubtedly the right place for a girl like you."