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KATIE SAT AT THE LARGE desk and re-read the letter from her attorney for the hundredth time. Spectacular autumn hues danced and sparkled in the vivid sunshine outside, but she was too immersed in the letter’s contents to enjoy the display.
According to a judge’s ruling, the clause Virginia Massey added to the deed many years earlier was indisputable, and Will’s direct relationship to Jonathon Wescott and Annie Logan incontestable.
As a result, the Jenkins Group accepted the reality that no amount of money or number of appeals would succeed in changing the end result. They withdrew their plans for the development and offered the land—which they now considered worthless—to Katie.
Putting the letter aside, she studied the plot of the additional acreage she now owned while trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts competing for her attention. Some of the land fronted the river. She would re-draw her plans for getaway cabins for veterans and move them closer to the water so they could fish and go boating. The site was so perfect for what she’d always dreamed of doing, it was almost like this had been the plan all along.
Katie couldn’t help herself. She looked up. Someone’s plan...all along.
Standing up and stretching, she walked contentedly through the house with nothing but her coffee and her imagination to guide her. Everything Katie viewed was seen in a new light. God had allowed her to peek behind time’s curtain, to catch a glimpse of what had been—and to feel a profound loss for that which was forever gone.
Yet the two worlds—past and present—were no longer distant and disconnected at Lacewood.
They overlapped.
Katie smiled at the two portraits hanging in their rightful places over the fireplace, and wondered at the series of “coincidences” that brought them there. An invisible thread pulled her here—and mysterious forces had pushed and guided her along the way. Seeing Annie and Jonathon together brought Katie a new peace of her own. Yet she couldn’t help but question the happenstance of it all.
If she hadn’t gone to the charity function in DC and taken that impulsive drive through the country to search for Grammy’s house, she would never have stumbled across Lacewood. Did her grandmother have something to do with this? The thought made her smile. It wasn’t hard to imagine her grandmother in Heaven orchestrating such events. What else but fate—or a feisty angel—could have steered her toward the sleepy little town of New Hope?
The experience taught her life wasn’t the haphazard sequence of events she once thought it was. The blur of insignificant incidents that made up each day were actually multiple threads in a giant tapestry that formed her existence. She’d ended up here on that particular day, at that particular time in her life, a time when she hadn’t even understood what she was missing or what was waiting to be found.
Was that by accident?
Or grand design?
Katie reflected back on what Lacewood looked like the first time she’d seen it...nothing but untamed wilderness and an isolated, dilapidated house. Yet she stayed. Why? All the signs of the past were here when she bought the place, but she’d been blind to them...or at least hadn’t understood them.
Now, as she leaned her shoulder against the doorway of Colonel Wescott’s library, she assessed everything through new eyes. Jonathon Wescott had been a father, a loving husband, a brave soldier, a hero to those in New Hope and beyond.
We lived more than a century apart, but love and loss don’t change—and they certainly don’t simply go away. Maybe Annie couldn’t rest until her story was told—so she wasn’t forgotten.
No, that wasn’t it. Katie shook her head emphatically.
Annie wanted to make sure his story wasn’t forgotten.
A tear slid down Katie’s cheek, as much from frustration as grief. How could she could feel such unrelenting pain and deep loss for people she’d never met? But they were real to her now. They’d laughed and cried. Lived and loved. They were no longer distant figures from another time or names engraved on an enduring monument—or even legends written on the pages of history books.
Their lives...their spirits...were woven into the very fabric of this house, giving it a heartbeat and a story. Somehow, she’d sensed them even before she stepped inside. Lacewood itself was like a monument to the generations of families who lived here. Solid and steady. Enduring storms and wars, heartache, and even death.
Katie stared out the window and imagined Annie there, walking solemnly through the garden, frightened and alone—or laughing with a child she loved as her own.
The sun was shining right now, but Katie envisioned the scene as it was when moonlight cast its beckoning beams. The image of a cavalry officer emerged from the darkness and mist, holding out his hand for the woman, whispering promises that couldn’t be kept.
She swiped at a stray tear even as a smile spread on her face. The view out this window was something she enjoyed every day, but now it was different. She witnessed it through Annie’s eyes, almost as if no gloom of distance or murk of time obstructed it. She took a deep breath of satisfaction at the thought of a fractured destiny made right.
Did Annie have any idea that a stranger would touch her precious things...and do so more than a hundred and fifty years later? Did she mind? Was she upset? Or, as Katie chose to believe, was she sending signals all along?
Katie walked back into the foyer and nodded to the portraits over the fireplace, then moved to the parlor where the lonely chair sat next to the window once again. The objects surrounding her were a part of this house, rich with history. Some would call them old. Outdated. Antiquated. She, on the other hand, considered them irreplaceable pieces of the past that could not be parted with for all the fame, power, or money in the world.
Without thinking, Katie lifted Will’s flannel shirt off a doorknob and was instantly rewarded with the scent of him. She slid it on, enjoying the warmth and comfort. Just a shirt. But it soothed and reassured her that she’d found what she’d been searching for all along...someone she could laugh with, learn from, lean on, and love.
Everyone in town knew about them, of course. This wasn’t the type of news a New Hope resident could keep to oneself or pretend not to know. Word on the street, and everywhere else for that matter, was that Will spent more time at the main house than he did in the cottage.
The thought of the local rumor mill manufacturing fresh content with lightning speed made her smile. Yet how Mrs. Tisdale knew what time Will went home at night—or didn’t—was a mystery she had not yet solved.
Luckily for the two of them, they weren’t the only hot topic in New Hope. Jaws dropped when Sheriff Bo began visiting a woman he’d pulled over for speeding a couple of months back. Apparently, they’d dated in college, and since they were both divorced...well, one thing led to another. Even though this woman was from the next county over, and Bo made every effort to keep the relationship low-key, everyone knew it was serious.
At least according to Mrs. Tisdale it was. She predicted the wedding would take place next June, or maybe July, which led others to make wagers on the matter.
And if that wasn’t enough news for one small town, Amy Rutledge was seen so often with Will’s friend, DJ, that people were beginning to suspect something was going on there as well. No one thought the young widow would ever find someone willing to take on a relationship that involved three children, but DJ seemed to relish the role.
According to Mrs. Tisdale, he was the oldest child of a large family, and grew up taking care of younger siblings. His time in the service instilled in him the necessity of discipline, yet he was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy who could handle anything—even a teenager and two young children.
Instead of calling Will, Amy relied on DJ when her washing machine broke or one of the kids was sick. Which was a good thing, since Will was usually engaged in fixing something at Lacewood.
Katie pulled Will’s shirt tighter around her, reveling in how she’d become a part of all this. Part of the town. Part of the gossip. Part of the New Hope family.
She belonged.
What had been, and what was still to come, were all right here—seemingly close enough to touch, yet just beyond her grasp. Nothing and everything had changed. The known and the unknown were blended and blurred.
Katie journeyed to this place with no map for guidance, no certainty, no focus. But Fate had stepped in, making sure she crossed paths with the taciturn, sensitive, caring man who was connected with both the past and present of this house.
And now, the future.
When the low growl of a diesel truck signaled Will’s arrival, Katie stood motionless. The feelings washing over her—of magic and mystery, of hope and promise—were startling in their intensity. She felt dizzy, and alive, and almost sick—all at the same time...like standing on the edge of a cliff and seeing something both spectacular and terrifying. Should she move closer? Or turn away?
The thought of hearing Will’s voice, being in his arms, spending time with him, rose up, almost overcoming her with all its force and fire, giving her the answer. She’d waited half her life for a guarantee, a sign from God telling her if she loved, there would be no hurt in the end.
But she didn’t need the guarantee anymore.
No matter what happened, Katie knew she was meant to be here. In this town. In this house.
With this man.
Where her own story of time and place was waiting to unfold.
DEAR READER,
I hope you enjoyed reading Lacewood!
I often get asked how a story comes about, so I thought I’d share a little bit about this sometimes painful, always unpredictable, adventure with you.
The inspiration for the novel began very innocently. I started noticing sycamore trees while driving to work. Suddenly they were everywhere...along the road, dotting the creeks, stretching their ivory white limbs up to the sky in the distant fields. Most people would ignore this sudden infatuation, but being a writer, I knew it was the prodding of my writing angel (that’s what I call her)—and I don’t ignore the writing angel.
After doing some research, I discovered that sycamores have quite a history—all the way from the Bible to the American Civil War. In fact, a 168-year-old sycamore tree is credited with sheltering a large group of soldiers during the Battle of Brandywine. And in 1792, beneath the limbs of a sycamore (buttonwood) tree, the Buttonwood Agreement was signed, establishing the parameters for the future New York Stock Exchange.
I also stumbled across a reference that referred to sycamore trees as lacewood. (A term no longer in vogue, and now refers to a tree from Australia).
Lacewood sounded beautiful...like the title of a novel. This was wonderful news, because I usually struggle with a book’s title long after it is completed. The bad news was...that’s all I had.
Staring at a blank computer screen brought to mind the image of a house beyond a gate that was deserted for some reason. I decided the house must have secrets—but I had no idea what they were. From the beginning, I envisioned a portrait on the wall with a second portrait missing. Unfortunately my writing angel didn’t tell me who the portraits were of or why one was missing.
As I began to create the main character, I knew she also had secrets—but, of course, it would be too easy if I actually knew what they were. Right? In fact, I thought at first that Katie was running from something, trying to hide from a crime or a person. Only after many months of writing, did I discover she was actually just trying to find herself.
I also knew from the beginning that Will was a man with a past he wanted to forget. I had no clue as to what he wanted to forget or why until he told Katie about his war experience.
That’s how my novels unfold. The characters tell me what’s going to happen next—not the other way around.
There are two other things I’d like to share with you. Number one, I’m a tree hugger—or more accurately, a tree toucher. Meaning, that when I see a grand, old tree, I have to touch it. I have to put my palm on the bark, close my eyes, and let its energy, its history, soak into me.
Number two, I bought a 200-year-old house when I was in my 30s. I searched for years for a house way off the road, and finally found one hidden enough that many of the locals don’t even know it’s there. After doing some research, I discovered it was owned by a Revolutionary War captain, whose family was among the original founders of the town of Gettysburg and surrounding county.
Many years later, while visiting a local cemetery, I noticed the last name of the former owner listed as a middle name of one of my ancestors. Lo and behold, I soon discovered that my grandmother’s kin married this man’s kin, so that this wonderful house that took me so long to find belonged to someone in my own past.
Random chance? Or grand design?
I hope that after reading Lacewood you get a sense that the past is never far away from our present. When you walk into an old house, or see a falling down barn, or pass a crumbling stone wall—think about it. Who built it? When? What secrets could it share?
I didn’t plan it this way, but I think my struggle to bring Lacewood to life is somewhat reflected in the main character’s struggle. Katie thought her life was a haphazard sequence of events that made no sense...when really there was a plan all along.
So if you walk away with anything from the novel, let it be this. TRUST in the plan, even if you don’t understand it.
Oh, and one other thing... Lacewood is all about piecing together a forgotten history.
History should never be forgotten.
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If you enjoyed Lacewood, please don’t forget to leave a review and tell your friends! Authors rely on word of mouth and reviews to help spread the word!
WHILE I WAS IN THE beginning stages of writing Lacewood, a friend of mine sent me a poem. I was touched by both its beauty and its pain, and tucked it away, not knowing at the time how perfectly it would fit with the plot of Lacewood. Here’s a verse of Walking the Boundary Line by Ann Diviney.