AN: Thanks CheckAlexa for the inspiration. I had this chapter partially written a few months ago and I finally got around to finishing it :)
Lydia was wide awake the next morning before the sun had even begun its journey across the morning desert and even before the crow of the rooster. She had always been an early riser due to the work that was expected of her. Every day she was up by dawn ready to tend to the day's work until the sun finally disappeared over the rolling hills that decorated the horizon for as far as her muddy brown eyes could see. Every day she worked under the hot Texan sun except of course, on the good Lords day.
But that day, Lydia's grandmother had come into her room to yank the quilt off her granddaughters small and stiff form. The previous night had proven to be bitterly cold and no matter how many quilts the girl had wrapped around herself, nothing had been able to completely block out the cold desert air.
"Rise and shine," said her grandmother as she peered down at the girl, "you better get a move on it before your porridge gets cold."
Lydia shivered in her cotton nightgown as she pulled the quilt her grandmother had crocheted for around her shoulders and rose tiredly to her feet, a yawn escaping her lips as she followed the older woman into the main room where the steaming bowl of oats sat waiting for her.
Her grandmother had already gotten the fire burning as a means of providing some warmth to the feeble interior of the log cabin that her grandfather had built with his own hands sometime before her birth. The sound of her grandfather's snoring could be heard from behind the walls as Lydia began to eat the stale oats her grandmother had prepared for her.
"Last night was a cold one," commented her grandmother as she stuffed another log into the brick fireplace, causing small sparks to erupt from the wood as the fire crackled. Lydia couldn't help but revel in the barrage of heat that tickled her skin as she ate.
"Mr. Tucker down the road says its gonna get even colder come winter," said Lydia as she shook her head in dismay. It was only September and the weather was gradually getting colder and colder with every passing day.
Lydia dreaded the cold that winter would soon bring them.
Her grandmother shook her head, "it seems as though every winter is colder than the last these days."
Last winter had seen many unfortunate deaths due to food shortages and ill preparation for the harsh winter months that often swept through the Texan countryside. Consumption and influenza had also run rampant that winter and their community had suffered many losses and it had taken the good people there a long time to recover.
They could only hope that this winter would not bring the omen of death as it had in previous years.
"Well, then it's a good thing we started stockpiling earlier this year," said Lydia as she looked over at the cache of dry goods they had been collecting since the early months of summer.
Flour, dried beans, potatoes, beets, carrots, other root vegetables, and dried beef jerky would hopefully see them well this winter, or at least they hoped. It was a lot of work keeping the stockpiled food uncontaminated and safe from vermin and insects alike.
"Praise God we have not run out of food," said her grandmother as she pulled the kettle off the fireplace stove and poured it into a bowl for Lydia to wash her face in. The water was hot, but not too hot as the young girl dipped her hands into it and splashed the warm water onto her skin.
The next hour was spent preparing for their journey into the town as they gathered up the small amount of fabric they had left over from their last job and dressed in the warmest clothes they had. Lydia's grandmother insisted she wear her best dress to the Whitlock's estate and Lydia knew that there was no arguing with the older woman as she donned her chemise followed by her corset and her petticoat.
The blue dress was a one-piece bodice that her grandfather had bought for her a few years prior as a present. It had cost a pretty penny and Lydia had been more than excited to try it on and marvel at the way the skirts billowed out from a tailored waist, making her look feminine in a way that farmgirl clothes could never accomplish.
Her plaits were taken out as her grandmother used her fingers to brush out the dark brown hair that had curled during the night, making her hair fall in soft ringlets down her back. Wearing a bonnet that day could not be helped seeing as how cold it was and there was no escaping the large brown overcoat that her grandmother slung around her shoulders.
Her grandmother smiled as she took a step back to admire her granddaughter, "you look absolutely lovely, my dear."
"Lovely enough for the Whitlock's I hope," said Lydia with a frown as he gathered up the fabrics in her arms.
Her grandmother scoffed, "more than enough."
The air outside of the cabin was even more colder than it was inside and there was no crackling fire to protect themselves from the harsh wind as they stepped outside and wrapped their overcoats around them tightly. The sun was already beginning its way over the sky above, but there were clouds on the horizon, a sight that had not graced the dusty Texan skies for a long time. Perhaps, just maybe those clouds would bring rain. Probably not, but they could only hope.
The walk into town was long and arduous, but nothing they hadn't done before as they dredged through the dusty roads until they found themselves making their way down by the river where the Whitlock estate was neatly tucked into the woods along the riverbed. The estate was picturesque with its rolling green hills and stables, not to mention the beautiful plantation style house that put their humble little cabin to shame. It was a wonder they managed to keep the lawns as green as they were considering the drought, but Lydia had long since learned that the Whitlock's got whatever they wanted, including water rights that kept their estate green while the rest of Texas suffered.
"I knew the Whitlock's were wealthy folk, but I never imagined," said Lydia as she gaped.
She felt uncomfortable standing there. Even she knew that she did not belong here. It was hard to believe that her father had grown up on this very estate and it made her feel miniscule compared to him, a man she had never known.
"There's a reason I never brought you here," said her grandmother pointedly as she stared at the estate with only disdain. It had never been a secret that Edna Kane didn't care much for the Whitlock's, who according to her flaunted their wealth and lacked humility, although Lydia couldn't imagine her father had been like that. From what little she knew of her father, she knew he had been kind and caring in a way that most people weren't. The people that had known him had described him as being very empathetic towards other, a trait that none of the other Whitlock's seemed to possess.
"Probably for the best," said Lydia, the bag of fabrics in her hand suddenly feeling heavier than before.
"I'm sorry you had to come," said Edna, her voice soft and tender as she looked down at her granddaughter, "if it were up to me, we wouldn't have anything to do with this family. Not after the horrible things they said about both your mother and you."
"We can't just pretend like they don't exist," said Lydia thoughtfully as she turned to face her grandmother.
Her grandmother scoffed, "why not? They've done a fine job of pretending you don't exist all these years. Their own flesh and blood."
"We're better than them," replied Lydia sternly, "and unlike them, we don't run away from our problems. I know they haven't acknowledged me, but I don't need their approval nor do I want it."
Grandma Edna regarded her granddaughter for a few moments before she softly said, "you remind me so much of her, you know? She would be proud of you."
"I hope you are too?" asked Lydia sheepishly as her grandmother nodded, a smile gracing her lips.
"Of course I am, now come on. We haven't got all day," she said as she grabbed Lydia's arm and led her over to the front door.
Before they even had the chance to knock Mrs. Whitlock was already opening the door to greet her guests, her granddaughter in tow behind her as they welcomed them into their home, which proved to be even more grandiose on the inside than the outside.
"Welcome you two," said Mrs. Whitlock, her voice as smooth as honey as she regarded them with a pleasant eye that was neither cold nor joyous. Her strawberry golden locks were swept up in a delicate updo that looked too complicated for Lydia's taste.
Abigail Marie Whitlock looked just as regal and beautiful as her grandmother. Her golden hair, a family staple that Lydia had not inherited, fell down her back in long cascades that made Lydia feel suddenly very unsure of her own dark brown ringlets. Her cousin's skin was fair- much fairer than her own seeing as the young debutante had probably never done any sort of work out in the sun like Lydia did. No, her cousin was a southern belle with a silver spoon in her mouth. She had never worked for anything in her life and she never would.
"I hope we're not too late," said her grandma Edna stiffly as she closed the door behind her.
"Oh no! You're right on time," said Abigail sweetly as she smiled at both Lydia and her grandmother, her dimples deepening to compliment her already symmetrical features. "Come on in. Would you like tea or water or-?"
"Water would be nice," said Edna as they followed them into the sitting room.
"I hope the journey here wasn't too strenuous?" asked Mrs. Whitlock as she invited them to take a seat on the sofa. "I know how far you guys live out there on the plains. I couldn't imagine living that far away from the town or having to walk that far just for simple amenities."
The way Mrs. Whitlock and Abigail were talking to them, it was as if they were old friends. That, however, could not be any further from the truth. The reality was, the Whitlock's had never been this pleasant or kind to them before.
It made both Lydia and her grandmother wary.
"We manage," said grandma Edna curtly as a maid appeared with two glasses of water for them.
"I can see that," said Evelyn Whitlock, "still, I couldn't imagine it. You two must be so tired."
"Not at all, ma'am," said Lydia as she sat her glass down on the table, "we're ready to start with the measurements whenever you are."
Mrs. Whitlock smiled, "well I can see you're not one to dawdle, aren't you dear?"
"I try not to be," said Lydia simply.
"Alright then. Darling, would you mind showing Ms. Lydia the sitting room so she may begin? I'd like to have a word with Mrs. Kane if you don't mind," she said politely as Lydia gave her grandmother an uneasy glance.
"Not at all," said Abigail, a bit too cheery for Lydia's taste as she rose to her feet and beckoned for the older girl to follow. "It's just down here. Follow me."
Lydia followed behind her younger cousin down the hallway where a collection of framed photographs decorated the wall, a true showcase of just how wealthy the Whitlock family was. Having your photograph taken was not cheap, especially in those days. Still, Lydia couldn't help but gaze over the family portraits as she tried to catch just a glimpse of her father. She had never noticed it before, but all the Whitlock boys looked alike and Lydia had only ever seen one photograph of Jasper.
Abigail noticed Lydia's wondering gaze and stopped to point out one of the three brothers in one of the family portraits.
"That's Uncle Jasper along with Uncle Theodore and my daddy," she said as she pointed to everyone in the black and white photograph. "Uncle Teddy died from scarlet fever in 1860 and of course, Uncle Jasper died a few years later. This was the last photograph taken when they were all alive."
"When was this taken?" asked Lydia out of curiosity. She couldn't help but notice how young they all looked.
"I'm not sure," said Abigail with a shrug, "probably around the same time he met- your mother. But who knows."
The words were unassuming, but the tone was anything but. Abigail had been snide with that comment about Lydia's mother and it left Lydia feeling stunned. She didn't know Abigail all that well and although she thought the younger girl was rich and spoiled, she had never expected such blatant rudeness.
"My mother?" asked Lydia.
"Rebecca, right? It's a real shame she died. My daddy told me how much Uncle Jasper cared about her, a girl who could never amount to much. Isn't that so tragic?"
"I beg your pardon?" asked Lydia incredibly, her tone shocked and defensive at the same time.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it like that," said Abigail innocently. "I just meant that my Uncle and your mother were just so different, you know? The son of a lawyer and the daughter of a laborer. It just wasn't a good match from the start. It's a shame their relationship was doomed from the start."
"It wasn't doomed," replied Lydia, defensively. "They were going to get married. That's why he was on his way to Galveston when he died. He loved my mother."
"Oh yes, of course," began Abigail before coyly adding; "but one might question my late Uncles actions. Was he going to marry your mother out of love, or out of responsibility? If I were him, I wouldn't want a bastard love child to besmirch my honor either, even if meant marrying someone that I did not love."
Lydia stared at her cousin in bewilderment. She had always known that Abigail was audacious, but she had never imagined just how bold or snide the younger girl was. Was she really trying to speak ill of her dead fathers intentions? Did she just question his honor?
"What are trying to imply?" asked Lydia, her voice on the verge of cracking.
"I wasn't trying to imply anything," replied Abigail sweetly, "I was merely hypothesizing. I apologize if I have offended you, dear cousin. It was not my intention."
"Well, maybe next time you should keep your hypotheses to yourself then," remarked Lydia.
"Perhaps," was all Abigail said as she turned around and led Lydia into another sitting room where a large set of mirrors hung against the far wall, perfect for seeing all the angles necessary for taking the correct measurements. Lydia wasted no time in grabbing the measuring tape along with the other tools necessary while Abigail undid the bodice of her beautiful peach-colored dress that looked as though it cost a fortune with all the lace and the ruffles. It looked more like a ball-gown than casual wear and Lydia was certain it had cost more than anything in her own wardrobe.
"I know, it's beautiful, isn't it? My daddy bought it for me in Houston last week," said Abigail sweetly as she smoothed down the soft fabric, "although, I'm not terribly fond of the color. I asked for blue, which is just my favorite color. But I guess this will have to do."
If someone had bought Lydia a dress as nice as that, she would not have even cared about the color.
"I like your dress," commented Abigail, "a bit too simple for my taste, but it looks quite charming on you."
Lydia looked down at her dress in dismay. It was the nicest dress that she owned and she had always thought that it was a lovely dress, but apparently it wasn't up to par in Abigail's opinion.
"I like simple," Lydia replied, trying her hardest not be offended by her cousins words.
"I've noticed," said Abigail as she flipped a stray curl over her shoulder and pulled the dress off, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments. "But that is a good thing, I suppose. You don't have to worry about dress measurements or debutante balls for that matter. You have no idea what a pain these things are."
"You're not excited?" asked Lydia curiously as she began to take the measurements.
"Are you kidding me?" asked Abigail with a short laugh. "Have you seen the man that is accompanying me? He's the most unsightly man I have ever seen and the most boring. I've never heard someone talk so incessantly about the judicial law before in my entire life, well besides grandfather of course."
"He's a lawyer then?" asked Lydia as she tried to feign surprise.
"Unfortunately," remarked Abigail with sigh, "I had hoped not to marry a lawyer, God knows we have enough of those in our family. But both daddy and grandfather think very highly of him, so I'm certain he's more than ready to make a marriage offer."
"But you don't want that to happen," stated Lydia as she began a different set of measurements.
"I have my eye on someone else," said Abigail with a grin. "His name is Adam. He's studying to be a doctor and he's from New York City. Can you believe that? A New Yorker all the way down here!"
"A yank," remarked Lydia in surprise. "I can't imagine either your father or grandfather being very pleased with that."
"No, I suppose you're right," replied Abigail before she turned her attention back to Lydia. "What about you? Is there someone special in your life?"
Lydia shook her head, "none so far."
"Oh," said Abigail, "well, I'm sure you'll meet someone. You're not exactly marriage material but you're prospects aren't terrible. I'm sure there's someone out there who won't mind your plain features or your illegitimacy," said Abigail simply, oblivious to the pain her words would bring.
In other words, what suitable and well to do man would want to marry an illegitimate and uneducated farmgirl. Lydia knew all too well what hearing those words felt like, but it hurt nonetheless.
Lydia's eyes started to sting as she turned her face away from the mirror to not let Abigail see the wetness that glistened in her eyes. She did not cry, she was far too prideful for that, so she did the only thing she could.
She blinked the wetness away before a scowl overtook her features. She was about to say something that was probably better left unsaid before both her grandmother and Mrs. Whitlock shuffled into the room. It did not go unnoticed that both women looked somber and more refined than previously.
Grandma Edna had a slight scowl while Evelyn Whitlock looked uncomfortable and stiff, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she gave both Abigail and Lydia a terse smile.
"I see you two have already begun," said Mrs. Whitlock.
"Actually, I'm just finishing up with the measurements," said Lydia as she wrapped the measuring tape around Abigail's small waist before marking it off with a pencil. Her grandmother made her way over to inspect the measurements although there was no doubt in her mind that her granddaughter had marked them down correctly. The young girl had done this plenty of times to know what to do.
"We'll need to stop at the general store on our way out of town and pick up some more fabric," noted her grandmother as she turned Abigail to the side so she could catalog the young girl's physique, her mind already working out the type of fabric and the components needed to create the dress.
"What type of fabric were you thinking?" asked Mrs. Whitlock curiously as she seated herself on the sofa, her hands crossed delicately as she watched the two seamstresses work.
Lydia looked over at her grandmother, who was busy biting her lip in deep concentration as she stepped back and motioned for Abigail to turn to the right.
"I'm not sure," she said finally, "I'll have to see what Mr. Cooper has in store."
"I'm fine with anything just so long as there's lace in it," said Abigail as she flipped a stray curl back over her shoulder, "I just love lace, don't I grandma?"
"Indeed," said Mrs. Whitlock in agreement, "she has such an affinity for lace. I hope that won't be a problem?"
"No," said Edna, "it shouldn't be. I'm sure Mr. Cooper will have something we can work with."
"Would it be too much to ask if you can do ruffles as well?" asked Abigail as Mrs. Whitlock shook her head.
"Don't get too carried away, darling. I'm sure whatever these two ladies come up with will be lovely, ruffles or no ruffles. And do remember, Abigail. We are on a timeframe," she said gently.
Abigail shook her head, "fine then. I suppose I'll have to have the most boring dress while all the other girls have their fancy-"
"Abigail Marie Whitlock," said the older woman sternly, her tone reprimanding as she fixed her gaze on the strawberry blond, "I will have none of that you hear? I am not your father and I will not allow that kind of disrespect in my house."
Abigail frowned as she drew her gaze back to her reflection in the mirror, but she said nothing further on the matter as Lydia and her grandmother began to put their tools back into their bag. The measurements were complete, all that needed to be done before they began the actual dressmaking was the fabric.
Lydia was relieved that they were done. She didn't think she could stand much longer in the presence of Mrs. Whitlock and Abigail, although her estranged grandmother had been much kinder to her than her cousin. Abigail Marie Whitlock was worse than Lydia had ever thought possible, and she had never had high expectations of the girl in the first place.
"Well, I do believe we are done here unless there is something else that we can do for you?" asked grandma Edna.
"Oh, I do believe that will be all," said Mrs. Whitlock as she rose to her feet. "Both my granddaughter and I are thankful that you made the journey all the way out here. I know it was such short notice asking for your services, but I know how beautiful your dresses are and I couldn't think of anyone better to dress my granddaughter for her coming out ceremony."
"It's no problem, ma'am," said Lydia with a tight smile, "we're always willing to help."
"Oh dear, you are sweet, aren't you?" said Mrs. Whitlock, "so much like- "
The older woman trailed off before she tore her gaze off Lydia as if the sight of the young girl brought her physical pain. The older woman refused to meet her gaze again.
Lydia looked down at the floor awkwardly, which did not go unnoticed by her grandmother as the older woman latched onto the young girl's arm.
"I think it's about time we left," said grandma Edna, "we have a lot to get done today while we're in town and we don't waste time."
"Of course, of course," said Mrs. Whitlock as she waved her hand decisively in the air, "we'd hate for that to happen. Ms. Constance, would you mind showing these two out?" she asked the maid that had been watching silently from the doorway.
"Of course, ma'am," said the maid with a curt nod before she was motioning for Lydia and her grandmother to follow her. "This way, please."
Mrs. Whitlock stepped forward and placed a delicate hand on Lydia's shoulder, preventing either of them from leaving as she regarded the both of them. "It was good to see you again, especially you Lydia. The last time I saw you, you were just a girl and now you're taller than I am."
"Yes, it has been years since you last saw Lydia," remarked grandma Edna coldly before adding; "although that is hardly our fault."
Evelyn Whitlock withdrew her hand from Lydia's shoulder, her once soft gaze growing emotionless as she nodded, "as you've so nicely reminded me."
"We'll be leaving," said Edna as she grabbed hold of Lydia's elbow, "it was a pleasure seeing you again."
With that both grandma Edna and Lydia followed the maid out of the sitting room and into the foyer that was adjacent to Mr. Whitlock's study, where he could be seen seated at his desk with a glass of whiskey as he looked through the stack of legal documents that sat piled in front of him. He was in such deep concentration that he did not notice either Lydia or her grandmother as he flipped through the papers, his grey brow furrowed as he pushed his spectacles further up his nose.
An older gentleman sat opposite of him, his black top hat placed on the desk in front of him as he leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped around a decorative cane as he stared at the lawyer.
Neither Lydia or her grandmother said anything as they followed Ms. Constance past the study, but they did not remain undetected for long.
"Constance?" asked Mr. Whitlock, not bothering to look up from his work. "Do you happen to know what happened to the documents from the Dawkins case? I couldn't find them this morning and I'll need them by tomorrow before I meet with the Judge."
"I put them away in the cabinet, sir," said the maid as she pointed to the mahogany filing cabinet behind him. "I made sure to be extra careful with them, just as you instructed."
George Whitlock turned his gaze upward to look at Constance but paused momentarily when he saw Edna and her granddaughter standing behind the maid, both as quiet and still as a statue as they regarded the lawyer.
He frowned before he took his spectacles off and placed them down next to his whiskey.
"I did not realize we had company," he said curtly as the older man turned in his seat to look at the two new guests, one furry eyebrow raised as he nodded in greeting.
"Afternoon, ladies," said the older man who Lydia vaguely recognized as Councilman Decker, one of the rich elitists who ran the town if Lydia was not mistaken.
"Good afternoon Councilman," said Edna curtly before she turned her gaze back to the other man, "and you Mr. Whitlock."
"Hello Edna, pleasure seeing you and your granddaughter here," he said blandly, "of all places. Tell me, what brings you to our humble abode today?"
"Your wife hired me to make Ms. Abigail a dress for her upcoming debutante ball," said Edna, "and of course, Lydia came to be my assistant. I'm surprised she didn't mention it to you."
"She conveniently forgot to mention it, yes," replied Mr. Whitlock, a hint of annoyance in his accented voice.
"You're a seamstress then?" asked Councilman Decker, a smile on his broad lips.
"Where are my manners," said George Whitlock as he rose to his feet, "Councilman, this is Edna Kane and her daughter Lydia, who were just on their way out if I am not mistaken."
"Kane?" asked the Councilman, ignoring his friends earlier comment about them leaving, "surely you don't mean Lydia Whitlock Kane? Jasper's girl?"
Apparently, he had also heard about the Whitlock's bastard granddaughter, but this was the first time meeting the young girl who had once been the talk of the entire town. But that was a long time ago and although her birth had been scandalous, it was no longer a central theme of the gossip in town. Lydia had been thankful when it was discovered that the Mayor liked to wear corsets because it gave people something else to talk incessantly about.
But people around there still knew who she was and the circumstances around her birth and Lydia knew she could never quite escape that.
"Yes, sir," said Lydia, her voice much meeker than she had anticipated. "That would be I."
"Oh, well- it is nice to finally put a face to the name," he said kindly, "I knew your father way back when he was your age. He was a good man you know, it's a shame you never got the chance to meet him."
"Thank you, Councilman. Although I can't say I'm the only one who lost someone in the war of secession. There were so many who died and left behind families and young ones. I was lucky enough to have two wonderful and caring grandparents to take me in," she said as she smiled fondly to her grandmother.
"You're right, there young lady. There are many in this town who lost people in that useless war and look where it got us! I told you, George, secession was a mistake," said Decker as he turned his attention back to the lawyer. "If our state hadn't made the mistake of seceding, your boy would still be here."
"You sound more like a yank' than a true Southerner," commented George idly as he poured himself some whiskey, "I hope you have a mind to keep your mouth shut round' these parts when it comes to your Union sympathies."
"The wars over, George," reminded the Councilman, "heck, I used to be just as loyal as you are to the cause, but the cause died out a long time ago, George. The Confederacy lost, and I think it's about time we all accepted it and moved on."
"Easy for you to say, your son didn't die in that war," said Mr. Whitlock as he downed the entire glass of whiskey in one gulp.
"I think it's time we left," said grandma Edna as she grasped Lydia's arm tightly. They could sense that a fight was about to break out between the two men and they didn't want to be there when that happened.
"I think that that is a splendid idea!" said Mr. Whitlock irately as he motioned towards the door. "Please, let yourselves out."
"With pleasure," said grandma Edna cynically, "you have a nice day, Mr. Whitlock. It was a pleasure meeting you, Councilman."
They couldn't get out of the house any quicker as Lydia ran after her grandmother, her skirts hiked up around her ankles as she struggled to keep stride with her fuming grandmother.
"I have had just about enough with that family," said her grandmother, "I've never met such pompous and self-entitled people like them ever before in my life."
"Mrs. Whitlock seemed nice," said Lydia, "although I can't say the same about Abigail or Mr. Whitlock."
Her grandmother scoffed, "you only think that because you hardly know the woman. Trust me, Lydia. There is nothing kind about Evelyn Whitlock. She hasn't one nice bone in her entire body."
"What did she say to you?" asked Lydia.
Her grandmother shook her head, "nothing you need to know."
"But- "
"Lydia," she warned, her voice stern and authoritative.
The young girl bit her lip, "are you sure you still want to do this, grandma? I'm sure we can get Ms. Marilyn to make the dress. We don't have to go through with this."
"Of course we do. If word got out that we didn't make Abigail the dress then people would start talking. You know how that would make us look."
"It's not like we have a point to prove," argued Lydia.
"Yes, we do have a point to prove. Lydia, my dear, we have always had a point to prove and I'm not about to let the Whitlock's win. And heaven knows your grandpa will not be able to work much longer and we need that money to put food on the table."
They needed to save their stockpiled food if they were to make it through the winter and Lydia knew that they needed every penny to survive. They had no other options.
"You're right, grandma. I'm sorry for questioning you."
"It's quite alright, dear," said her grandmother, her voice much softer than before as they began to walk down the road. "I can see where you're coming from and I appreciate your concern."
"I just didn't like the way they treated us, grandma. It wasn't right," said Lydia with a furrowed brow as a clasp of thunder sounded in the distance. The clouds that Lydia had spotted on the horizon earlier had moved in fast and were hanging low, a sure sign that rain was on the way for the first time in months.
"No, it was not," said her grandmother in agreement before she looked up at the cloudy grey sky and scowled. "We need to get over to the general store and get that fabric before it starts pouring on us. The last thing we need is to get sopping wet in this weather."
"At least the drought is about to end," remarked Lydia.
They hurried over to Mr. Cooper's general store as fast as they could without running, which was unladylike according to her grandmother. They arrived just as the train was pulling out of the station, the toot of the horn loud and obnoxious as they crossed the tracks behind the departing train and made their way past the station and into the general store where they often times shopped. Another clasp of lightening boomed overhead just as they made their way into the small store.
"First Kings chapter eighteen verse forty-one. Then Elijah said to Ahab, "Go up, eat and drink; for there is the sound of abundance of rain," said Mr. Cooper from behind the counter as he regarded the two women who often frequented his shop. He smiled widely as yet another clasp of thunder filled the sky. "Looks to me as though God is about to end another drought in the desert."
"I wouldn't mind if waited till we got home to end it, but I guess I can't complain when it comes to the Lord," said grandma Edna.
"No you cannot," said Mr. Cooper in agreement. "So, ladies, what brings you to my fine store today?"
"I need to see your inventory of fabric if you don't mind good sir," said Edna as she walked up to the counter.
"Ah, fabric. Yes, I do believe I have an inventory although I am sorry to say that I am running a bit low. The last shipment of fabrics that came in was over a week ago and everyone in town is buying fabric for the upcoming debutante ball, as I'm sure you know about already."
"When does the next shipment come in?" asked Lydia.
"I'd have to check, but you see the schedule varies from time to time so I'm afraid I cannot give you a solid answer," he said as he placed his spectacles on and pulled out a personal notebook which he thumbed through for a few seconds. "I believe the next shipment will be sometime day after tomorrow, but don't take my word for it."
"Would it be possible for us to place our order before the shipment arrives?" asked Edna.
"I don't usually do this for my customers, but seeing as you two have been such loyal customers, I'll make an exception just this once," he said as he motioned for Edna to follow him.
Lydia stayed behind as she watched the two adults disappear into the back room before she made her way down one of the aisles where she could see Joshua Cooper kneeling down on the floor as he did inventory. Joshua, who was the same age as her, had been one of her classmates and friends at the school before it had closed down permanently a few years prior. He had always wanted to go to the big city and become a Doctor, but his dreams had been crushed when the city council had voted to shut down the school due to lack of educators. Now, on most days he could be found working in his father's store, which he would one day inherit.
"Hello Joshua," she said kindly as he turned his gaze upwards, a smile playing at his lips.
"Lydia, what a pleasant surprise," he said as he rose to his feet and wiped his hands on his dungarees, which were already stained from the dirt on the ground. "What are you doing here?"
"Grandma and I are here to pick up some fabric. We have a new client," she said.
"Let me guess, a client in need of a dress for the debutante ball in Houston," he said as he led her over to a table in front of the back window that overlooked the train tracks.
"Well, you're not wrong," she said as she took a seat.
"Anybody I know?" he asked curiously.
"I doubt there isn't a soul in this town that doesn't know who they are," she said with a sigh, "it's Abigail Whitlock."
He blinked in surprise, "your cousin, Abigail."
"The one and only," said Lydia in confirmation.
"I didn't think you and the Whitlock's ever spoke to each other."
It was true that the Whitlock's never had much to say to her for her grandparents and usually if they did have anything to say it was cordial yet cold at the same time.
"No, not really, but Mrs. Whitlock asked for my grandmother's services specifically and we could really use the money," she said as she lightly tapped her fingers against the wooden table top.
"You don't seem pleased," he noted as he brushed his unruly dark curls away from his forehead.
"I don't know," she shrugged, "it is what it is, I guess."
She turned her head to look out the window where tiny droplets of water could be seen starting to fall against the glass, but it was not the overdue rainfall that caught her attention.
"Who died?" she asked as she pointed over at the carriage parked along the side of the row that carried a large wooden coffin that had most likely been dropped off by the train earlier. It wasn't unusual to for trains to transport bodies for funerals and Lydia wasn't all that perturbed by the sight of it.
"Oh, you didn't hear?"
"Hear what?" asked Lydia in confusion as she looked back over at the wooden coffin.
"That's Willie MacMartin in that coffin. They just dropped his body off for burial earlier," he said as he leaned forward in his chair.
"Willie?" she asked in surprise. He had been a few years older than her and the last time she had seen him was the summer before last when he had gone off to join the Texas Cavalry, against his mothers wishes of course. She hadn't known him all that well, but on the few occasions that they had talked he had always been polite and considerate. He had been in a relationship with another girl who had been in Lydia's grade, Rosella Shaw. They had planned to get married sometime next year.
Lydia could hardly believe that it was Willie in that coffin. He had been so full of life that last time she had seen him.
"How?" she asked, her voice faint.
"They said it was some kind of wild animal attack, but I doubt anybody can be certain," he said solemnly.
"You don't think it was an animal attack?" she asked in surprise.
"No, it had to have been a wild animal. I just don't think they know for sure what kind of animal it was that killed him. The body was in pretty bad shape when they found it and I heard that the coroner had never seen anything like it in all his years on the job."
"What do you mean?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"I heard that when they found the body, there was not a trace of blood to be found in him. Whatever killed him also sucked him dry," said Joshua, his tone fascinated and morbid at the same time. But also mournful seeing as Willie had been a classmate of theirs and he had always been kind to them.
"What sort of animal would do such a thing?" asked Lydia, her tone disturbed and shocked.
She had never heard of a creature that could suck a full grown man dry like that, well at least not creatures that were real of course.
"Perhaps a vampire," said Joshua teasingly. However, Lydia did not find his joke amusing or humorous.
"I don't think it's in good taste to be making jokes like that, Joshua. Willie was a good person and his death is not a laughing matter," she said sternly but not unkindly. Her grandparents had raised to have more respect for the deceased than Joshua was displaying.
"You're right, it's not something to joke about," his tone ashamed as he ran a hand through his dark locks, "I guess I just don't know what to think of it all. I've heard that Willie's death isn't the first strange case they've had like this."
"You mean the disappearances down south?" she asked.
"I heard that they've found more bodies like Willie's, but this is the first occurrence in these parts. My dad says its all hogwash, but I do think the people are starting to get paranoid and this town already has a lot to worry about already. There's been another outbreak of consumption," he said with a sigh.
"Already? Goodness," she said shaking her head. They had hoped this year there would be fewer outbreaks than in previous years, but it looked as though God had not answered their prayers.
"My ma always said winter brings death. And I have a feeling that with everything going on, maybe she wasn't just being poetic," he said offhandedly as they both watched the carriage carrying Willie's coffin was carted off.
Lydia was about to say something further when her grandma and Mr. Cooper made their way over to them, the both of them talking up a storm about something. The both of them were smiling, but Lydia couldn't bring herself to return the gesture. Her mood far too somber as she looked back out of the window at where the carriage containing poor Willie's body had been just a few moments prior.
She shivered involuntarily. Not from the cold, but from a deep-seated feeling that left Lydia uneasy.
Perhaps Joshua's mother was right. Perhaps this winter would only bring death.
AN: Kind of a slow chapter, but it sets the story up. Things will be getting more interesting in the next chapter I promise.
Thanks for reading!
