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Overview
Mathias, Revolutionary War ranger and spy, battles his conscience and his heart when he finds himself falling for the beautiful violinist invading his home. Jolena is mortal and deserves far more than what he as a spirit can offer her.
When Jolena's family motto leads them to unearth a valuable coded message--the very message Mathias died trying to deliver to General Washington--Jolena vows to unravel the mystery surrounding the cryptic document. But someone else wants the message, and he'll stop at nothing to get it, not even murder.
Divine intervention brought them together--will it also allow them to find forever?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781612177632 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Wild Rose Press |
| Publication date: | 05/17/2013 |
| Pages: | 384 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.79(d) |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Present Day Pennsylvania Late spring
"Okay, Carolyn, I put you on loud speaker so I can set the phone down. Hopefully, you can still hear everything I'm doing." Jo placed her phone on the small antique table left of the sofa. "Right now I'm picking up the very last box. As you already know, it's filled with my most precious things."
"So, dive in and unpack it already," said Carolyn.
"Now you know I can't do that." Jo shook her head as she sat down, placed the box atop her lap, and inched the tape off the cardboard lid centimeter by centimeter.
"Jolena Leigh Michaelsson! What in the world is the matter with you? Why are you removing that tape at a snail's pace? Don't think I can't hear you," Carolyn berated. "Do you or do you not want to be an official resident of your house?"
"You know I do, and you also know anticipation is part of the excitement. I'm supposed to savor this moment, Kay-Kay, you know this," she said using the nickname she gave Carolyn Taylor, well before they discarded their diapers. "If I just 'dive in' as you suggest, this party will end before it begins. Where is the fun in all that?" The exasperated sigh on the other end of the line made Jo laugh.
"Oh, whatever," Carolyn grumbled. "You know this is the very reason I've yet to return to the house. You would surely drive me crazy by savoring all of your special moments. I mean, get real, girl. What could possibly be so special about taking an hour to plant your last bush or finishing the last section of trim with a one-inch paintbrush? Get on with it, already."
"The excitement, as well as the pleasure, comes in seeing this house restored to its former glory, piece by precious piece. You know, for someone who holds a PhD in anthropology and archeology, you have no imagination or patience whatsoever."
"That's not altogether true, Jo. Just because I didn't want to keep driving out to the house during the restoration, doesn't mean I lack imagination. And patience? How can you say that when a simple dig can take months of excavation one tiny shovel at a time. Well, I'll have you know —"
While Carolyn rambled on, Jo's mind wandered back to the day she stumbled across this place. The journey began as a quest to find the rural farm properties in southeastern Pennsylvania that once belonged to her ancestors. Not that she expected them to look as they did back then, of course. But having a love of world history, family history, and all things antique, she just wanted to see some of the same things they may have seen. Look at the world through their eyes. It really didn't take her long to get lost, and she never did discover the exact location her ancestors lived. But she did find this house.
Despite the shameful neglect, she found the underlying beauty of the homestead amazing. Her vivid imagination conjured the glorious dinner parties and garden luncheons the original owners surely hosted during the late eighteenth century. Something about the house compelled her to explore it, and the faded For Sale sign hanging halfway off the front gate provided permission. After she exited the car, she approached the walkway and took a moment to absorb every detail of the property.
An overgrowth of decayed vines and leaves climbed and twisted in complete disarray over the stone exterior. Massive round pillars held a lovely wrap-around terrace, but the balustrades needed repair. Broken windows needed replacing. The trim needed a miracle. Large, hideous weeds had overtaken the once grand gardens. The former lush lawn had all but disappeared. Add a bit of misty fog, a few creepy ravens, and in its present condition the house would resemble something straight out of a Hollywood horror movie.
She approached the front doors, and found them locked. A search for a hidden key yielded nothing. However, the back door at the rear of the house welcomed her with arms wide open. She peeked inside and stepped over the threshold. This door led into the kitchen, and she gasped in delighted surprise as she took in the old-fashioned charm. The original owners trimmed the large country kitchen with a generous amount of brick on the walls and pine planking on the floor. A wood burning stove still sat on a raised brick platform along the center of the west wall. With a bit of hard work she could restore the kitchen to its former splendor. Thanks to all the lessons from a patient father, she could do a great deal of the labor herself. That would save a ton of money.
She picked her way through scattered debris, dust, and cobwebs to explore the rest of the house. Her mind contrived each room in the original condition. Somehow, she just had to find a way to buy this house and restore it the way she envisioned.
She climbed up the staircase while caressing the hand-carved railing. Jo wandered through each spacious room on the second floor. From the bedroom at the end of the hallway, she strolled out onto the balcony, withdrew her cell phone from her pocket, and called the number on the sign below. The agent said the owner would consider any offer she presented. A true enough statement as the gentleman sold her the property far below the listed price.
Thus began months of hard physical labor, about fifty tubes of analgesic, several boxes of Band-Aids in various shapes and sizes, and more than half her savings. Still, the house turned out better than what she ever imagined.
"Jo? Are you still there?" asked Carolyn, transporting her back to the present.
"Still here and just waiting for you to finish your tirade so I can open the box," she said. "For someone who is in such a big hurry —" "You haven't even cracked the lid?" wailed Carolyn. "Jo! We don't have all day here. Just because you're on vacation doesn't mean the rest of us are."
"Okay, okay. Box is open and I'm removing the top most treasures, which I wrapped in a generous amount of tissue. Do you hear the paper rustling as I open each individual layer?"
"Jo —"
Jo met the playful warning with laughter. "Oh, yes. I'm looking at the tiny pair of porcelain Cinderella slippers I inherited from my grandmother. Did I ever tell you she received these little blue-and-gold slippers as a wedding gift? Oh, and in the same bundle as the slippers, I have her elegant white swans with dainty floral motif — ditto the history. Do you remember them?"
"Yes, of course," Carolyn said. "I've always coveted those swans, so if one day you find them missing —"
Jo laughed anew as she arranged the curios on the shelf and then returned to the box. She peeked inside the container. "Okay, I'm now taking out and removing the bubble wrap from around my clock." She took a moment to gaze at the simple beauty of her Delander calendar clock. This walnut clock had passed through at least seven generations of family members. The piece made the arduous trip from the east coast to the west coast and back again. Yet, it remained in perfect condition. Even the silver-and-brass calendar movements adorning both sides of the golden face, still functioned without flaw.
"I don't hear anything —"
"Well, I'm giving the wood a final polish, so what's to hear?" She laughed as Carolyn sighed and muttered under her breath. "Now I'm placing it dead center atop my gorgeous, hand-carved fireplace mantel. I'm setting the time and calendar. I hope you can hear all of this — now giving the pendulum a gentle nudge, closing the face and — it looks perfect. Too bad you aren't here to see if for yourself."
"Aw — don't sound so pathetic. Musicians are only supposed to cry with their music, isn't that right?"
"Good try," Jo countered. "All right, now placing the pictures of family members, generations past and all the way to the present."
While she arranged each of her treasured family heirlooms about the room, Carolyn shared the moment with her. She stayed on the phone until she set her very last Irish pewter goblet on the shelf.
"Well, I guess that's it," Jo said as she brushed the long strands of dark auburn hair off her face and stood back to survey the results. Just as she made the comment, the sun descended below the horizon under a cloud-filled sky. The brilliant colors the duo created cast a warm golden glow through the sparkling windows and into the room.
"All right, I'm officially moved in and the place looks beautiful, even if I do say so myself," she said with a firm nod of her head.
Carolyn met the announcement by blowing a variety of party favor squeakers and applauding for several minutes. "I'm so happy for you. But I want you to know I already miss having you here with me," she said.
"Well then, I guess you'll just have to come out and see the house in all its regal glory. Maybe you could spend some time here. Just think, you could indulge in a little peace and quiet," Jo baited.
"Sounds wonderful. I'll take you up on that offer the first chance I get, too. Listen, I really do have to go now. But thanks so much for sharing your glorious moment with me, and I have a little house-warming gift for you the next time I see you. You're going to love it."
Jo's smile faded as she hung up the phone and took in the wondrous sight of her empty house. Carolyn supported her from the beginning of her purchase and all the way through the arduous renovations. But even her encouragement and enthusiasm couldn't fill the void inside her heart.
Somehow, she arrived smack in the middle of her late twenties, without her knight in shining armor having the decency to show up on his magnificent white charger. Considering her current circumstances, she didn't expect him to make his grand entrance anytime soon either. Therefore, without so much as a "by your leave," she ditched him by the wayside. Well, maybe it took more than an attitude and a snooty lift of her nose. Still, she didn't need a man to make her happy. He simply would've been the icing on the cake she already had.
She had a very satisfying career as a violinist with the world-famous Philadelphia Orchestra, a position she long studied for and worked hard to get. Her career enabled her to travel to many places some only dreamed of going and now enabled her to buy this beautiful home. She could go anywhere she wanted to go and do as she pleased, whenever she pleased. She didn't need to ask anyone's opinion, fret over feelings or conflicting schedules. Life just couldn't get any better, could it?
Just keep telling yourself that, Jo, the tiny voice at the back of her mind taunted. Maybe one day, you'll believe it.
A sigh escaped her lips as she shook away the somber thoughts. Enough of this. After willfully shifting her mood, she gave her head a little toss and said, "Well, Jo — look at it this way, no one will fuss over how long you're in the shower or crab about how much hot water you use."
"Unless the length of stay is a cause for alarm, of course."
Jo gasped, her mouth dropped and as she spun around to confront the owner of that voice, a hand flew to her heart. Yet, she didn't encounter a soul during the process. No one could've slipped past her either. As she stepped out onto the stone floor of the entryway, she inched her way to the double doors. She took hold of the large round knob and turned it just enough to free the latch. Such an act prepared her in the event she needed to sprint outside. Once outside, she could run screaming down the street.
"Hello? Is someone here? Can I help you?"
No one responded, nor did she hear any sound coming from inside the house. She shook her head and released both the knob and the breath she had held. Her grandfather clock across from the hall tree pointed to the lateness of the hour. She had risen extra early in order to arrive here at dawn determined to finish the house. After the long, arduous hours, fatigue simply set in. Because of that fatigue and the previous reflections of her non-existent knight, she conjured a voice. A magnificent male voice, with a deep, rich timbre and charming accent she couldn't quite place. Mystery solved.
Besides, if anyone snuck into the house, the dog would've sounded the alarm. His ferocious bark would've alerted her immediately. Not to mention, the stone floor echoed when one walked on it, and the massive oak doors creaked when they opened and closed. Old homes just made odd noises. Right? She would have to get accustomed to each one of them or she would find herself jumping all over the place like some nervous ninny.
Just then, the striking of the old iron doorknocker resonated against the metal plate outside. The harsh clank shot through the door, and vibrated against her head. Her hands flew to her mouth. She stifled a scream in the same moment it occurred that the clang simply announced a visitor on the other side of her door. She took a deep calming breath and a moment for composure. Then, she turned around, put a smile on her face, and twisted the knob.
Two couples, both well into middle age, stood a considerable distance from her doorstep. One of the men, the one with streaks of gray throughout his mousy brown hair, offered her a large basket of fruit. He did so with his arms outstretched and his shoulders kind of hunched over as if he didn't want to budge the placement of his feet. A woman, most likely his wife, drew her brows tight together in disapproval and shooed him forward. The obvious designated spokesman of the group ventured a small, half step closer. And gulped — at least twice.
"Ah! Well, hello there, young lady. We're your neighbors, just down the way," he said, waving a nervous finger in a somewhat northerly direction. "My name is Douglas Parker, this here's my wife Gloria, and this is Richard and Ellen Anderson. They live just a few miles or so down the road and across from us.
"We, uh — well it appears you're all moved in now, what with the moving truck coming the other day. And um — we just wanted to welcome you to the community and let you know we're here if you should ever find you need us." The speech flew out of his mouth with all haste. Douglas then thrust the basket toward her, clearly wanting the whole business finished.
Once again, Jo smiled at her guests, and with a single nod of her head, accepted the offering. The two couples almost made her laugh aloud. They looked so completely opposite each other. The Andersons were fair of complexion, tall and slim, while the Parkers were dark, short, and a bit on the pudgy side.
"Thank you, you're very kind. My name is Jo Michaelsson, and you're right. I just finished unpacking the last of my boxes a few minutes ago. I'm excited to say, I'm officially settled in." She stood back to allow them entrance and swept a hand toward her sitting room. "Please, won't you come in?"
The look they gave each other all but screamed, "Not on your life, missy! Wild dogs couldn't drag us in there." But, after a deep breath, they followed her inside. Her brows lifted a tad, and she inhaled a breath of her own as she followed these very different people into her sitting room.
The woman named Ellen halted her footsteps just as she crossed the archway. She took a moment to absorb every detail, from the ivory-painted walls, decorative crown moldings, and baseboards, to the warm earth tones Jo used to accent them. The gaze of her guest lingered over the small builtin arched shelf in the corner, littered with porcelain antiques. Her mouth dropped as she studied her antique secretary, tea tables, and chairs, all artfully arranged on the polished hardwood floor.
"Oh, my goodness," the woman finally said. "Look what you've done to this place. This room is just beautiful. I can't ever remember a time when I've seen it looking so grand. Not that I have been inside the house overly much, mind you."
While the others bobbed their heads in agreement, Jo beamed with pleasure. "Thank you. I've put many hours of hard work into the place. At times, I wondered if I would ever get finished." She gestured toward the furniture. "Please, sit down and make yourselves comfortable."
They exchanged expressions of sympathy as they gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa. Why they huddled together on the couch while three very comfortable chairs remained empty, escaped all comprehension. In fact, she had difficulty understanding the strangeness of these people all the way around. Why would they feel sorry for her? Did they or did they not just give her a compliment regarding the restoration of the property?
"Is something wrong?" she asked as she gazed from one face to the other.
"Oh. No — no. Well, uh, yes, what I mean to say is ..." Gloria stammered, while looking to Ellen for help.
"Oh sweetheart, it's just that — wait a minute. Did you say your name is Jo Michaelsson?" asked Ellen as she sat up a little straighter and placed a hand on her husband's arm.
Jo could literally see that piece of information locking into Ellen's brain. "Yes, I did."
"Do you happen to play with the Philadelphia Orchestra?" she ventured again.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Spirit of the Revolution"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Debbie Peterson.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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