The Daughters of Julian Dane Read online

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Other books by Lucile McCluskey

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part 2

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Part 3

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Back cover

  The Daughters

  of

  Julian Dane

  by

  Lucile McCluskey

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  The Daughters of Julian Dane

  Copyright ©2012 by Lucile McCluskey

  ISBN-13 978-1-926918-48-8

  First Edition

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  McCluskey, Lucile, 1923-

  The Daughters of Julian Dane / written by Lucile McCluskey.

  ISBN 978-1-926918-48-8

  I. Title.

  PS3613.C5833D38 2008 813'.6 C2008-904884-9

  Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

  Disclaimer: The people, spirits, and places in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to places, or to persons, living or dead, is not intended and is coincidental.

  Extreme care has been taken to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher:

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  www.ccbpublishing.com

  This book is dedicated to my children,

  Treva Ferrell

  Lawrence McCluskey, Jr.

  Andrew McCluskey

  Other books by Lucile McCluskey

  The Daughters of Julian Dane

  My Mema and Me

  Haven

  Acknowledgments

  I am grateful to my son, Lawrence E. McCluskey, Jr. for his untiring and patient efforts to teach me to type on the computer. He has spent countless hours correcting my errors and editing the manuscript. Then when I lost the whole works due to the hard drive fouling up, he and his brother, Andrew McCluskey, managed to retrieve it. Otherwise, I would have given up on it. A million thanks to my son, Andrew.

  And I owe just as many thanks to Jacqueline Kefauver, my friend since the seventh grade, for her assistance with the design of the book cover.

  Prologue

  Julian Dane had two daughters. Victoria Dane was born three weeks short of his twenty-third birthday. Adelaide Martin was born thirty-three years after his death.

  The Daughters of Julian Dane

  Part One

  Victoria and Adelaide

  Chapter One

  Della Martin couldn’t help but smile at the Reverend Morris Kirkland seated in her husband Ben’s brown tweed recliner. To Ben it was the most comfortable place in the whole world to be, but Brother Morris didn’t seem to find any comfort in it. He kept making motions of getting up, but never did – and he looked so out of place. A brown leather, wing back was more his style. Addie was right, she thought, he did look more like a football player than the pastor of Riverbend’s largest church. The dark blue suit he was wearing didn’t conceal his muscular frame, and those bright, hazel eyes and that heavy head of dark auburn, slightly curly hair topped off his rugged good looks.

  “Brother Morris, I just ...”

  “Della, Della, how many times have I asked you to call me Morris – in the privacy of your own home of course. I like to feel that the church members think of me as one of them, and I’d feel more like you did if you would call me Morris.”

  How was she to remember when to call him Morris and when to call him Brother Morris? She wondered. Was he blushing a little? “Well, uh, Morris, I want to say how much I appreciate your stopping by and bringing me these books. I know you’re very busy with lots of things to do and people to see. It’s very thoughtful of you.” Why did he make her feel so uncomfortable at times – especially when, on occasions, she found herself alone with him? A glance at the clock on the TV told her that it was time for Addie to be coming in from school, and she was glad.

  “I’m never too busy to check on you when you’re not in church on Sunday. After all, you’re my – our favorite soprano. We miss you when you’re not in the choir loft. And I’d just finished these books. I didn’t want you to run out of something to read while you’re getting over the flu. I think you’ll enjoy both of them. One is fiction, the other historical. I know how much you enjoy history.” He rose slowly from the chair as though reluctant to leave.

  “Thank you,” Della said, as she stood up from the white, velvet sofa, the jewel of her yard sale searches. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy both of them, and I’ll get them back to you soon.”

  “No hurry, and I’m glad it was nothing more than a light case of the flu. Some of our members have been pretty sick with it.”

  “I’m glad too, and I feel sure we’ll all be in church on Sunday. However, Dr. Bradley did say this particular strain has a way of returning just when you think you’re over it.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “Yes,” Della agreed, as she walked toward the door.

  “But since I missed practice last night, I won’t be in the choir.” He was looking at her that way again – like he knew a secret that she didn’t. She hoped not. Della didn’t like secrets. They had to be protected, guarded. No, she didn’t need anymore secrets.

  “Well, I must be going, or I’ll be late for my Thursday afternoon tea with Miss Willy. That would never do. You just don’t keep Wilhelmina Stone waiting. By-the-way, Della, how long have you and Ben lived in Riverbend?” he asked as he stood by the door.

  Now why did he want to know that? She wondered. “Why, Ben was born and raised on a farm about fifteen miles from town but still in the county,” she answered. “And my folks moved to an adjoining farm when I
was about seven or eight. Then Ben and I moved to Nashville where we were married. But we moved back here when Addie was fifteen months old. She’s sixteen now.” Della looked at him questioningly.

  “I just wondered if you’d been here long enough to have learned anything that might have happened to cause Miss Willy to shut herself up at Stonegate like she has?”

  “No. I have no idea, and I’ve never heard anyone say. She is held in such high esteem by the people of Riverbend, I don’t believe anyone would ever say anything detrimental of her.” And no one ever talks of Miss Willy’s hermit-like existence anymore, she thought. It was an old mystery that the town folks had laid to rest. Why was he bringing it up now?

  “Yes, I know. The few people I’ve asked that question of have been very noncommittal. Hayes, the Stonegate butler, recently remarked that it had been close to fifty years since she’d been outside the walls of Stonegate.”

  Della didn’t know it had been that long. “That’s so hard to believe,” she said, shaking her head, “especially since she obviously cares very much for the people of Riverbend. She does so much for the whole town.

  “When we first came back, we lived in an apartment that belonged to Miss Gussie Gorham. She had been the housekeeper at Stonegate when she was young, before Miss Willy’s mother died. She was a very talkative person until the Stone family, or anything about Stonegate was mentioned. Then she would just clam up.”

  “Hummm. Odd isn’t it?” Morris said. “Well, I just don’t understand it. But after all these years, she’ll probably stay right there until she dies. No one may ever know the answer.

  “Say hello to Ben for me, and tell Addie we’re counting on her to join us on the young people’s Spring retreat.”

  “Spring retreat?” Della asked. “Oh, yes. I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.” Now why hadn’t Addie said anything about Spring retreat? She was usually so excited about it. She’d have to find out about this, she thought, as she opened the door for the Reverend, and he said a reluctant goodbye. Then she caught sight of her leggy, red haired daughter on her new, blue, ten-speed bike. She was cutting through the driveway of the identical four rooms and a bath, white, asbestos shingle across the street. The only difference in the two houses being that Ben had painted theirs a light gray with country blue door and shutters, and built a utility room on the back porch.

  Della was annoyed. Addie had been told not to cut through the Simpson’s yard even though it did save her a long half block to and from school. The bike came flying across the street and into their small front yard, stopping suddenly in the grass beside Brother Morris as he walked long strides down the sidewalk.

  “Addie! Good to see you. I was just reminding your mother about Spring retreat,” Della heard him say. “Hope you’re planning to join us. It should be our best trip yet. See you Sunday.” Not waiting for an answer, he hurried on toward the white Buick parked at the curb.

  “Yes, sir,” Addie said to his back. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, called, “Hi, Mom,” and walked her bike to the side of the house toward the one car, gray, clapboard garage.

  “Hi, honey,” Della answered noticing that the wild onions were ankle high and that the grass was coming up pretty and green. Addie would need to mow very soon. She’d have to ask Ben if he had serviced the mower and gotten it ready for another summer. He didn’t like Addie to use it until he had. She closed the door against the March wind that had gotten up, and headed for the kitchen.

  When Addie came in the kitchen door, mother and daughter hugged and kissed each other on the cheek. “Mrs. Simpson is going to chew you out again,” Della warned, as Addie dropped her backpack and jacket onto her chair at the small, oblong, kitchen table.

  “Naw,” Addie said. “We’re friends now. I rescued her cat from the Elkin’s dog.”

  “Oh, really? You didn’t tell me about that,” Della said, sliding the green scarf off her daughter’s long, soft, fluffy hair, the color of ripe strawberries.

  “How are you feeling? Did you make chocolate chips today? I’m starved,” Addie declared as she shook out her hair and reached for the cookie jar.

  “When are you ever anything else?” Della asked, lovingly stroking the silky hair a moment before she stepped to the refrigerator to get the glass of milk she had already poured for her daughter. “I’m feeling pretty good. How was your day?”

  “Oh, okay, I guess, except for that Evelyn Ann Mobley. Honestly, Mama, she has more gall,” Addie declared, as she took the glass of milk from Della and took a long swallow. “You won’t believe what she did today. You know the new boy I told you about – Donnie. You know, Donnie Whitefield, who just transferred here?”

  “I remember you telling me about him,” Della answered amused. How could she not? She could describe the boy from Addie’s remarks: The prettiest blue eyes, the neatest light brown hair, a lock of which just wouldn’t stay in place but kept falling down onto his forehead, at least six feet tall, long legs, muscular shoulders and arms...

  “Well, she told almost every girl in school today,” Addie continued, “that he was her territory, and for the rest of us to keep hands off. The nerve of her! Just because her folks gave her that ‘previously owned’, not used mind you, but ‘previously owned’ red Camaro for her sixteenth birthday, she thinks the rest of us are going to heed her every command like that Heather Franklin does. You’d think her folks are as rich as Miss Willy the way she flaunts around.”

  “Honey, nobody in this town, or any around here, is as rich as Miss Willy. And, Addie, jealousy is not a very becoming trait. It’s also a sin.”

  “I know, Mom. Sorry. But you’ve just gotta see him. He’s even better looking than Brother Morris. Oh, what was he doing here?” she mumbled through a mouthful of cookies.

  “He just stopped by to see why we weren’t in church on Sunday,” Della answered as she emptied ice trays into the storage container. Refilling them at the sink, she thought that she had never heard her daughter carry on about a boy before.

  “Wow! He must stay on the go if he visits every church member who misses a Sunday.”

  “I suppose so,” Della said, “but why haven’t you mentioned Spring retreat? Did you know about it?”

  “Oh, sure,” Addie said quickly. “It’s no big deal.”

  “And since when has Spring retreat taken such a back seat? Where are they going this year?” Della asked as she replaced the filled ice trays into the refrigerator.

  This time Addie was not quick to answer. “Oh, some camp in Florida – near Daytona, and two days at Disney World,” she answered trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  “And that’s no big deal!” Della exclaimed, pausing from taking vegetables from the crisper drawer to look at Addie. She raised up. “Adalaide Martin! What’s wrong with you? Going to Disney World is all you’ve wanted to do for years! Why haven’t you told us?”

  “Mama! It cost too much money! That’s why. Besides, I promised daddy I wouldn’t ask for anything else for a whole year if I could have my bike for Christmas, and he got it for me even though he didn’t get a whole lot of work to do this winter.”

  Della placed the vegetables on the counter and reached over and put her hands on Addie’s thin shoulders. Already her daughter was an inch taller than her own five foot six inches. She looked into the sparkling, emerald green eyes with loving gratitude. “Honey, Ben put that bike on lay-a-way even before you asked for it. And you know he’ll do his best to see that you get to go on this trip.”

  “No! Mama! No! I’m not going! And I don’t want you to say anything to daddy about it. We can’t afford to get the parts for the dryer, and you have to hang out clothes in the cold wind and get the flu. Do you think I’d take our money for a trip?”

  “Honey,” Della said, “you don’t get the flu from hanging clothes out in the cold wind, and we just might be getting the dryer fixed real soon now,” she said as she searched in a drawer for the potato peeler. “Ben’s working for Mr.
Johnson at the furniture store. They’re remodeling, and he has at least three full weeks of work there. By the time that’s finished, the weather will be cleared up enough that he’ll soon have all the work he can do. He always does,” she added reassuringly.

  “Oh, Mama, that’s wonderful!” Addie exclaimed hugging her mother. “I’m so glad. Daddy is always happier when he’s working.”

  “He won’t be very happy when he finds out you weren’t going to tell us about the Spring trip. You know he has always made sure you got to do just about everything that all the other young people at church do,” Della said, thinking again, as she often did, that perhaps they should change churches. Maybe go to the River Road church. It was older and smaller, and the people didn’t dress as well, or drive big expensive cars. But they didn’t have much of a program for the young people, and it would be awfully hard to break away. She loved the people of Community Church, and the beauty of the building that Miss Gussie had insisted they accompany her to that first Sunday when they had returned to Riverbend.

  They had certainly been in no position to refuse her anything she asked of them. Their money had been stolen as they slept on the bus back to Riverbend to see her mother and sisters. With no money and no place to go, when they couldn’t find her family, Miss Gussie, the elderly passenger who had become so strangely attracted to Addie, had taken them in. And they had been so grateful to her.

  “I know daddy has always found a way for me to go on the trips and do other things, Mama,” Addie was saying, “and I appreciate it. You know I do, but not this time.”

  “Addie,” Della said patiently, “how much money are we talking about?”

  Addie looked at her mother a few moments, then sighing, she said, “Mama, they are figuring at least two hundred dollars for the week.”

  Della gasped. “Oh, my! That is a lot of money! Why, none of the church’s trips have ever cost anywhere near that much money!”