No Other Love by Isabel Morin Read Free Book Online

forward to take hold of the pot.
    “Thank you, no. We’ll manage without you.”
    Turning to her son, who had not ceased his scrutiny of Rose, she began to pour. “Do tell us all about your trip to Albany, Nathan.”
    Rose was dismissed. Retreating from the room, she made sure not to look anyone in the eye, least of all Luke Fletcher.
    Rose stood outside the study door later the next day, her heart pounding. She had been told to change the linens in all the bedrooms on the second floor, which made it the ideal time to search the study, but even the cleaning supplies she carried would not be enough to shield her if she were caught. Mrs. Craig had made it clear that Mr. Fletcher allowed no one but her in there to clean, and even then it was only upon request.
    But this morning was perfect. It was a lovely summer day and Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher had left for a riding party and picnic with their guests. The staff was making use of the unexpected leisure time to loll about in the shade out back of the house. She could hear them laughing and teasing one another from an open window.
    She paused outside the door, nearly faint with anxiety as she listened to make certain no one was inside. Not a sound but the blood beating in her ears. Before she could change her mind she turned the knob, the squeak it made seemingly loud enough to bring everyone running. Slowly she opened the door and let herself in, her breath fast with fear, noting with relief that the heavy damask curtains were drawn on the bright day outside. She needn’t fear being seen through the window.
    The study looked very much as she had imagined it would, with two wing chairs set before a giant oak desk and bookshelves against the far wall. But what caught her eye were the pen and ink sketches that hung around the room. She had seen nothing of the kind anywhere else in the house.
    The one nearest her depicted Cider Hill in wintertime, the starkness of the house at that time of year conveyed with simple yet compelling details. Moving closer, she saw by the signature that it had been drawn by Luke Fletcher.
    Quickly, knowing she should not be wasting even this much time, she looked at the others, all bearing the young Mr. Fletcher’s name—portraits of children she guessed must be nieces and nephews, as well as one of a dark-haired woman in a garden. At first Rose thought her one of Luke’s sisters, but on closer inspection she looked to be older than they would be even now, and the style of dress was far too out-dated. This, then, must be the first Mrs. Fletcher. Luke’s mother.
    She was lovely, and lovingly portrayed as well, particularly given how young Luke must have been when he drew it. And though Luke looked far more like his father, she could see something of him in her high cheekbones and the fullness of her mouth.
    Moved by the affection evident in each drawing, she found herself wanting to study them more, to see others he’d done. But she could spare no more time now on the discovery.
    She hurried to the desk, grateful for the carpet’s muffling effect, and scanned the desktop. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for. A reference to running the railroad though Lenox, a letter on the subject perhaps? Taking care not to disturb anything, she read through the various papers on the blotter, her hands quick as those of a seasoned spy, though perhaps a trifle shakier. Next she opened the drawers and rifled through them. A thick file with Luke’s name on it caught her eye.
    Inside were letters from Luke to his father. She held her breath as she paged through them. Near the end she found a letter from Fort Laramie dated 4 April, 1841.
    Dear Father,
    I see that it took so long for your last letter to find me that you may as well have come yourself. There will soon be no need for letter writing, however, or for further requests that I come home to work for the R.R. I am finally persuaded by you to return to Boston, at least until we see the railroad over