Whisper Falls

Whisper Falls

E
LIZABETH
L
ANGSTON

S
PENCER
H
ILL
P
RESS

Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Langston

Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

Spencer Hill Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever
Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229,
USA

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www.spencerhillpress.com

First Edition: November 2013.
Elizabeth Langston
Whisper Falls: a novel / by Elizabeth Langston - 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary:
A teen boy in modern-day North Carolina, and an indentured servant girl from 1796 in the same area, meet through a waterfall that allows them to talk, and then to travel across the centuries.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Colonial Williamsburg, Ford, Lexus, Mini Cooper, Propel, Spiderman, Volvo, The Weather Channel, Whole Foods, Wikipedia,
YouTube

Cover design by Coelynn McIninch

Interior layout by Marie Romero

ISBN 978-1-937053-42-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-937053-44-4 (e-book)

Printed in the United States of America

For Norah and Charlie…
We have not forgotten.

I perched on a stool in the dining room's corner, the mending basket at my feet, a torn pair of breeches draped across my lap. It was good that I had to sit with my back to the family. If my master couldn't see my hands, he couldn't tell they were idle.

Knuckles rapped for attention on the table. “Come, Jedidiah,” my master said, “it's time for your lessons. Deborah and Dorcas, you may join us. Bring your stitching.” Chairs, benches, and shoes thumped as the Pratts adjourned to the parlor.

I tossed the breeches into the basket and hurried to clear the table, anxious to complete my evening chores. Amidst the clatter of dishes, Mr. Pratt's voice rose and fell with his reading from the Holy Bible. As I tiptoed past the parlor door, my master paused, his gaze going from me to his elder son, a silent message passing between them.

Tonight, I would be followed.

The sun had already begun its descent when I crossed the yard to the kitchen building. In no time, I had the dishes scrubbed, the floor swept, and the fire banked. Tomorrow's meals cooked in pots nestled among the coals on the hearth.

Was it possible I had finished my work before my master's son finished his? I cast a glance toward the main house.

“Susanna?” a voice rasped from the rear door of the kitchen.

I whipped around, my heart sinking. In my rush to leave, I had forgotten the slave. How thoughtless. “Hector, have you come for your supper?”

He nodded and gave me a shy smile.

“I'm sorry, it isn't ready. I'll prepare your meal now.” As I cut the cornbread, I pondered what else to serve him. The Pratts had eaten all of the stew.

“What's cooking?” he asked. “It smells mighty good.”

“Chicken.” It had been many days since Hector had had meat. I should have liked to give him some tonight, but had the chicken simmered long enough? I lifted the heavy lid of the pot, pinched a sample, and tasted. Yes, it would do nicely. I added a chicken wing and a boiled sweet potato to the wooden trencher and handed it to Hector. “Here you are.”

He smiled again, backed down the steps, and ran to the barn.

I could finally take my evening break, but no longer held out hope I would go alone. Jedidiah had certainly completed his Latin lesson by now and lurked somewhere in the shadows.

With only an hour of daylight left to guide me, I raced along the faint trail through the woods and made straight for Whisper Falls. Behind me, twigs snapped and leaves rustled with an unnatural rhythm.

After arriving at the top of the bluff, I dropped to my knees, crawled behind a boulder, and then swung over the ledge, my hands and feet scrabbling at the rock wall. It took only a moment to reach the bottom. I slipped into the cave behind the waterfall, my heart pounding so wildly it shook my frame.

Above me, Jedidiah crept through the tall grasses, the shushing of his shoes faint, the pace stealthy. I shrank into the cave's musty depths, pressed myself against the damp wall, and strained to track his progress.

The shushing stopped.

There were no sounds besides the murmur of forest creatures and the whisper of the falls. What was he doing?

Perhaps he'd seen me disappear over the edge of the bluff. It would be my first mistake in the many weeks we'd been playing this terrible cat-and-mouse game. Was he waiting even now for my next move?

I would wait longer.

Pebbles showered down, cracking like gunshot against the granite cliff before plopping into the creek near my toes. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Susanna!”
His frustrated groan floated past me on the warm May breeze.

He didn't know where I was.

Relief threatened to loosen my limbs, but I fought the feeling. It was too early to celebrate, although the wait would be over soon. Jedidiah feared the woods after dark.

I held my breath. Truly, for his own good, he should go home.

His shoes shuffled on the rocky ledge.

We listened for each other, neither admitting defeat.

An owl hooted.

Jedidiah made a panicked squawk. Footsteps thundered down the trail leading to the village. I released my breath on a hiss, inched closer to the mouth of the cave, and peered out. His blond head bobbed in the distance, merging into the trees.

My legs gave way, and I sank onto a moss-covered boulder. That had been too close. I could finally relax and enjoy my break—blissfully alone. My master had never understood why I should want an hour of silence, an hour with no demands or duties. He believed I must have a secret beau, and nothing I said could convince him otherwise. Indeed, Mr. Pratt would be furious if he discovered how easily I evaded my chaperone. Not that his son or I would ever tell. By unspoken agreement, Jedidiah never mentioned my talent for hiding, and I never mentioned his incompetence as a spy.

Enough, then. With my hard-earned hour of freedom ticking away, I would not waste another precious second. I emerged from the protection of the cave, knelt on a flat rock, and lifted my face to the cool mist of the waterfall. There was nothing left to do but allow the cares of the day to fade. This evening, I would indulge in my most longed-for dream—the moment when I would leave my master's household forever. On my eighteenth birthday, my indenture would be ended. I would rise at dawn, pack my meager possessions, and walk the half-day's journey to Raleigh.

My master knew of my plans, and they enraged him. Mr. Pratt hated Raleigh. He believed our capital city to be a den of vice.

How deliciously enticing. It made me all the more eager to go.

Ta-thonk
.

An unfamiliar noise invaded my reverie. I straightened and peered through the clear veil of Whisper Falls. On the bank opposite me, the woods rattled and hummed. The shadows wavered and shifted. A young man burst from the trees, wearing outlandish clothes and riding a strange mechanical beast.

I leapt to my feet, pulse racing. Common sense demanded I leave. Curiosity begged me to stay.

The young man rolled down the hill at a fearsome pace astride a two-wheeled cart built of thin metal bars. Legs cranking, he sped along the bottom of the trail, slammed into the bluff, and toppled to the ground.

With a dazed shake of his head, he sat up, arms resting on bent knees, and drank in a few hard breaths. Then in one smooth movement he rose, picked up the machine, and slung his leg over its peculiar saddle.

Curiosity won. I would stay.

Memorial Day had gone nothing like I planned. It really should've been simpler to launch my summer yard service.

My goal was to find enough customers to cover my mountain bike racing expenses. Since I was already out on summer vacation—and the public schools didn't let out for another two weeks—I had a competitive advantage that I intended to use. All six of my customers from last year had signed up again, and several had passed along referrals. I was on track to have as much business as I wanted this year.

I'd headed out this morning, expecting to be gone for two or three hours. Right. I'd forgotten how much people cared about their yards. The grass had to be so thick. So green. All this talk about grass made me glaze over.

One referral customer, Mrs. Joffrey, was especially intense about her lawn. I'd listened for five minutes about the height alone. The grass had to be exactly three and a half inches tall—not four and not three.

“Do you understand, Mark?”

“Yes, ma'am. Three and a half inches.”

“Good, then. You'll start tomorrow morning? Eight o'clock sharp?”

I gave her the confident nod of an experienced entrepreneur. “I'll be here.”

With an impatient glance at her watch, she hurried inside.

I checked my watch, too. Damn. My original plan for the holiday had included an extra-long afternoon training ride. Instead, I'd wasted most of today talking about grass.

I rode home and tore upstairs to my room. A stack of clean bike shorts and jerseys lay neatly on my bed. I threw on my gear and ran back downstairs.

A gorgeous smell halted me at the garage door. I looked in the kitchen.

Mom stood at the stove, throwing shredded cheese into a pan of steaming broccoli. A slow-cooker bubbled nearby.

“Pot roast?” I asked her.

She nodded. “With roasted potatoes.”

My second favorite home-cooked meal. What a decision—to eat it fresh or go on the bike ride. “When will it be ready?”

“Now,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I thought you'd already be done with training.”

I'd thought so, too. Since I couldn't afford to miss a day, the meal would have to wait. “Can you leave my share in the slow-cooker for later? I'll get a protein bar to tide me over.”

Her face fell. “That's fine.”

I stared at her a moment. She was more upset than I would've expected. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really.” She turned her back on me. “Maybe you could sit with me while you eat your bar.”

I didn't want to, but didn't see how I could say no. “Sure, Mom.”

By the time she joined me at the table, I'd finished the bar and was staring obviously at the clock.

“Mark?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Have you heard from your sister?”

Ah. Finally getting to the point. My mother wanted to discuss Marissa. “We talk most days.”

“By phone or email?”

“Both.”

“She won't pick up the phone when I call.” Mom's voice

wobbled.

Even though my sister had moved to Denver three weeks ago, she was still the main topic of conversation around here, just as I'd expected. Before she left, Marissa bet me twenty bucks that Mom would be smothering
me
by Memorial Day. I knew I'd win. Obsessing over my sister had become a way of life for Mom. She wasn't going to lose a bad habit that quickly.

Mom bent her head over her pot roast, pushing it around with a fork. “Has she made any friends?”

“A few.”

“Has she registered for summer classes yet?”

“No.”

Mom looked up from her plate, frowning. “Why not?”

Damn. Marissa had lied to my folks about why she'd moved to Colorado. She should be the one to tell them the truth. “You'll have to ask her.”

“Why can't you tell me?”

“Mom, please.”

She stabbed a chunk of beef. “Can I use your cell phone?”

“No, Mom.” Did she really just ask me that? “It might work once, but then Marissa would never speak to
me
again either.”

“You're right.” Mom's eyes were wet.

It was horrible to see her cry, especially on days when she wore mascara. I needed help. “When will Dad be home from San Francisco?”

She wiped her nose on a napkin. “In two weeks.”

That sucked. If Dad the engineer had been here,
he
would've listened to Mom whine about Marissa and then explained in logical detail how to get over it. Since Dad's solution wasn't available to me, I was stuck until he returned.

Maybe I should steer the conversation to a safer subject. “How's your new job?”