Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But as with many love stories, things went disastrously wrong. After a blissful two months of engaged life, dark rumors started to circulate about Elizabeth Blackburn. Ugly, salacious gossip that, if true, spelled disaster for the young couple. It most certainly spelled ruination for Elizabeth. It had reached her father’s ears that Elizabeth had been engaged in an illicit affair with a young man of no importance in Shelbyville.
The rumors were without merit, vehemently denied, devoid of proof and undoubtedly false. That didn’t matter to anyone because women whispered behind Elizabeth’s back, fueling the gossip, and both patriarchs of the Mardraggon and Blackburn families stewed over the potential truth.
An argument ensued between the two fathers, James Blackburn and Edward Mardraggon. No, not an argument—a rageful, blasphemous feud between two powerful men tossing bladed barbs at one another. Young Henry, who refused to believe the worst about his love, tried to intervene and calm the situation. Tempers between the fathers flared hotter and pistols were drawn.
Two shots were fired with the intent to kill but only one bullet landed tragically.
Right into the chest of Henry Mardraggon, fired by Elizabeth’s father, who had been aiming at the elder Mardraggon.
Edward Mardraggon’s own bullet went wide as he aimed at James, lodging in a door casing.
Henry died instantly.
Beautiful, heartbroken, ruined Elizabeth took a little longer to die. Two weeks after Henry was buried, she hung herself under the rafters of the grape arbor where Henry had proposed to her.
Both families blamed the other for their children’s deaths. No one ever talked again about the rumors surrounding Elizabeth and whether they were true, for it hardly mattered. Two precious lives were gone, and two families entered into a war that some say raged hotter than the one between the North and South.
“A paternity test is simple enough,” Wade says. The youngest of the three Blackburn brothers, he’s the most even-keeled. He brings logic to this conversation. “Let’s assume you are Sylvie’s father. What are you going to do?”
“He’s going to take his daughter,” Kat exclaims, tossing a chastising glare at Wade. “Of course, he’s going to take her and raise her and she’s going to be a Blackburn.”
“Except she’s a Mardraggon.” Trey drums his fingers on his knee, one booted foot propped on his knee. “She’s been a Mardraggon for her entire life. She’s been raised by those morons and therefore she’s probably—”
I wheel around and growl. “Don’t even finish that thought.”
It goes silent, none of my siblings willing to risk my ire. I truly don’t know what Trey is about to say, but if it’s going to in any way disparage my supposed daughter, some unknown force of protectiveness has welled inside of me, unwilling to let anyone say a bad word about a girl who may be my blood.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s still unfeasible to reach our parents, currently vacationing in New Zealand. Being as they’re on the other side of the world, it’s the dead of night there. I called and left a voicemail as well as sent a text, and the mere fact they’ve not responded means they’re deep in slumber. I need their advice and I’ll get it eventually. But right now, it’s helpful to have my siblings here brainstorming the issue.
It’s not like there are a lot of decisions to make. Wade is correct. It’s a very simple matter of paternity and if it’s determined that Sylvie is mine, she’ll come live with us.
I ruminate on Alaine’s letter.
Dear Ethan,
I know this letter and Mr. Gillam’s visit are going to come as a shock and I first and foremost need to apologize for keeping our daughter a secret from you. It is my only hope that you can understand my reasons for doing so. At the heart of the matter is our families’ deep hatred for one another. I’d like to say our one evening together was a mistake, but it gave me Sylvie, so how could that ever be true?
Given the animosity we shared and the fact I lived in a different country, it was easier not to tell you. But I’m dying and that means I have to be truthful, not just with you but myself, and I admit that I was also selfish. I didn’t want to share Sylvie, nor did I want to deal with the scabs that would keep getting ripped off the wounds our families continue giving each other.
Cancer is the great equalizer. It’s made me really think about what is best for our daughter. I love my family, but I know they are not without faults. I believe some of those faults could be detrimental to Sylvie. I can’t say that I know you very well. I was taught to hate your family. All I know is that I don’t want Sylvie to grow up under my parents’ influence.