Chapter 1

He had not had a proper holiday in months. Years even. Here he was now, back home in Sunvale, enjoying the fresh, open air of the countryside. The smell of the sea he had grown tired of on his boat ride back from England. As the wheels of the coach hit a pot-hole and the sudden jostling nearly knocked his hat from his head, he decided he most certainly would pay the extra fare for an airship next time he had to travel abroad. His stomach had eventually mastered the rocking of the waves on both trips, but the salty sea smell never did sit right with him.

Duncan Gilfillan peered out of the window of the coach to get a better whiff of the air he had grown up in and watched as the paved streets gave way to dirt lanes and the buildings turned to rows and rows of crops and trees.

A smile touched his face, a face which had lost its southern kiss of the sun after spending so long under England’s gray skies. Before departing for his trip, he had the tanned skin that came with working alongside his little brother for hours on end, either by their metal furnace or outside under the heavy sun. Time spent inside bent over his studies—or whatever papers his professors required—had stripped him of the glow of his valley home.

The wheels creaked and groaned as the driver urged his horses along over the rough ground. Duncan listened for the sounds of the countryside he had not heard in sometime. The call of a cricket, the whistle of a bluebird, the croak of a frog or toad, quite in contrast to the factory sounds and whistles of trains and steam cars he had heard in London and the surrounding big cities. His smile only widened and he stuck his arm out of the window to lean more into the world of his home. There would be more sounds to look forward to once he reached Sunvale. Particularly those of a blowtorch and socket wrench, the noise of his father’s workshop.

He and his little brother had watched their father repair nearly every kind of mechanism imaginable at his workshop desk. Duncan always marveled at how the man could take an object that looked like it would never fulfill its purpose ever again, scatter each and every tiny piece out on his desk, and manage to put it back together and have it working like new before evening came on. The satisfaction that came when the last piece was in place always amazed Duncan and Roy as their father smiled down at them and showed them the finished work. They were not to know it until they were older, but the admiration that sparkled in their little eyes reflected the pride in their father’s eyes, for they had inherited his talent.

Roy, the younger son, was just like his father, if louder and more energetic. He loved fixing things, but he leaned more towards building something brand new out of something old. He had been content to remain in his father’s workshop for the rest of his life, and maybe build his own shop nearby where he could weld and steam and torch to his heart’s content.

Duncan took a different interest. Though his mind drew satisfaction from a repaired contraption, be it a watch or a broken axle or a mill handle, his heart was in another kind of satisfaction. He loved watching his father write down their profits for the month, separate where the money would go, and then see where they were at the end of it all. Numbers, figures, calculations, plans… they fascinated Duncan. When he showed skill in the area of accounting and wanted to know more than his mother could teach him, his parents sent a letter away to the best school they knew of, making sure to include written copies of Duncan’s work and interest. It had at first upset Roy that his big brother was to leave them and go so far across the ocean to be where he knew no one. Duncan had told him that things had to change and everyone would go a different path in life. That would never mean they were no longer brothers. Four years would fly by before Roy even knew it.

Four years at a big university overseas had been just as hard on Duncan as it must have been on Roy, but it had ignited the fires that stirred in his soul every time he added up different amounts and came out perfectly even. A true accountant’s heart, his professors had told him, and he had beamed proudly, knowing they admired him as their protege. It had been hard getting used to the way of life in England after living in a small American town all his life, but he had pushed forward.

Now he had the promise of a well paying job once this holiday was over. Up in New York, a bank manager—of whom he had come to know in England—needed a trustworthy assistant. The job was exactly what he wanted to do, fill in the blanks, add numbers, keep track of expenses, and work towards a desired result. Not to mention three other people in New York wanted him for accounting work of a similar sort. They were all high end businesses. Duncan could support his family for the rest of their lives. His father could even retire had he the mind.

The farther into the wooded area of Sunvale the coach pulled him, with the crystal river running through the valley and its oak and pine trees blocking it in like a hidden paradise, the less Duncan could see himself entering another stuffy bustling city like what would be in New York. Leaving behind this greenery and fresh air for the grind and pollution of a big job at a bank no longer appeared as tempting.

Everything had felt as though it were in place to him when it was all happening nearly too fast for him to keep up. Both his father and pastor, two men he respected greatly, had felt peace about him going to the English university where he had been accepted. They encouraged the trip. So Duncan had gone, he had worked, he had made his success, and now he was reaping the benefits of it with multiple job offers. This job in New York fit right in with everything. It seemed, logically, the smartest and best decision to make.

Why, then, did it feel so wrong now that southern soil was beneath his feet?

And beneath his feet it now most certainly was. His polished shoes touched the ground and he took a deep breath, the scent of honeysuckles and fresh cut sycamore sending nostalgia straight through his bones.

He paid his fare, took his bags, tipped his hat to the coachman, and turned around to take in Sunvale, which seemed to be just as he left it. A valley of paradise. The valley curved along with a river, and in its side were nestled many different houses with their thatched roofs and white walls. The valley stretched for some distance in its serpentine way. You could never see the entire town unless you followed the curves in the dirt paths and walked the entire distance from one end to the other, going through its lanes of trees and forest before coming to another cluster of buildings and farmland. Or perhaps you would see it all if you climbed the tallest tree and looked out over the valley where little brown squares marked the houses tucked away around the river’s bend in the valley walls.

From where he stood at the front of the valley, Duncan saw the steam rising from the workshop that still belonged to his father. It was one of the few buildings in this first cluster of homes. He heard the creak of the old watermill that had had so many wheels and gears restored over the years. It was a wonder the thing still turned, but the river would not be stopped on its way to the ocean and still that big old mill went with it.

The weaver’s shop, doc’s office, and the bakery stood where they always had, their signs having had a fresh coat of paint, but still their old, rickety selves. The jewelry shop was new, a smart looking building just to his left across from the river, but Roy had written to him about it. In his brother’s words, the jeweler had stones and gems of every size, shape, and color, lined up beneath locked glass and tucked away in little boxes.

Duncan smiled at the thought of Roy. The boy would be glad to see him. He had not told him when exactly he would return, for the captain of the steamboat himself had not thought their ship could muscle through the bad weather that seemed to haunt England’s coast. Upon touching the southern seas, the winds had calmed, much as they must have when Jesus spoke to them in Bible times. Duncan had hummed quietly, knowing it was his mother’s prayers of a safe trip home that had calmed the storm. He shared this with all who would listen, and of course, most thought him a fanatic. He did not care. He knew why the winds had calmed. The Lord was telling him to come home.

It was not until he had taken a deep breath of Sunvale air that he realized how badly he needed to come home. While he was here, perhaps he would reconsider his decision to take the offered job. Maybe he just needed to relax for a little while, rest and listen for God to speak before he jumped into what seemed logical.

He had just resolved to do this when a commotion from the corner of the dirt street had his eyes drawn from the beautiful sky above where he was smiling at the fluffy clouds. He lowered his gaze and saw a crowd of people behind a building. Duncan looked to the crowd, hearing the murmurs and mumbles, then looked to his father’s workshop where he should go greet his family.

Curiosity had always been a weakness of his. As a child he was always asking questions, a habit his mother had told him he must drop when traveling abroad. The stuffed shirts of England (her words, not his) would not take his persistent inquiries half as well as the kind saints of Sunvale did. Though he kept his debatably useless questions mostly quiet while he studied in the university, they still bounced around in his head and made guesses and assumptions until he either laid them aside or found their answer.

He was no longer in England. He did not need to hold back his questions, for the people here gladly welcomed curiosity and learning. Believing his family could wait a moment longer to learn he had returned, Duncan adjusted his hat once more and took his walking stick, striding purposefully across the street to the house where the crowd stood. His bags would be fine on the loading platform for now. There was nothing overly valuable in them.

It was a two story building with a porch out front and a tall staircase in the back that led up to a door on the second story. This had once been the home of the town doctor, Doc Havana. But the man had since moved to a bigger building deeper in the valley where it was easier for all residence of Sunvale to reach him. (Roy had reported in a letter of moving all the doctor’s heavy equipment, weird contraptions that looked more fit for the workshop than a doctor’s office.) Now the building was a house for the widow, Ethel Bernard. Ethel had lived in the town all her life. Her father had been the first pastor of their little church and many respected her. She gave whatever she could whenever she could, and as her strength began to leave her, she prayed fervently.

Duncan had always admired the old woman for her wisdom. She gave and gave and gave, yet her faithfulness and foresight never left her wanting. She always had what she needed and stored money up for emergencies. Her numbers added up properly in the end, even when she gave large amounts to the church and those in need. Duncan remembered that. Those who gave in God’s name would never need to beg for bread.

As he reached the corner of the building and peered around, he found himself thankful for being head and shoulders above most people. It gave him considerable advantage when it came to his curiosity. He listened at the edge of the crowd as people spoke of what they were gathered around, which, as he came closer, appeared to be a person on the ground.

“I think I saw him once before…” someone said.

“Yeah… poor fella… dead drunk, most likely… bottle right there…”

“He’s got such a nice face, though…”

Duncan’s curiosity ceased to be so prominent upon learning it was a dead body they were all staring at. His stomach clenched at the thought of someone leaving this Earth in such a way, but still his curiosity had him hanging around. He stepped forward and caught a glimpse of a man in crumpled clothing sprawled out on his back.

“Two deaths in one night! How horrible!”

That perked Duncan’s ears. He looked to the woman who spoke. “Two, ma’am?”

“Of course! Surely you heard about poor old Ethel?”

Now Duncan wished he had not come to look. He knew the woman was getting up in years, but to hear of her death was still painful. His eyebrows furrowed.

“All right, all right, move along, folks, move along! Nothin’ to see here, ya vultures, move it!”

He heard him before he saw him, and Duncan turned quickly to catch sight of his oldest and dearest friend.

The man was pushing others away from the body, shooing them to the street. He was small of stature, with dark curly hair and well-worn but sturdy clothes. The well-groomed goatee was new, but the piercing eyes and northern accent were unmistakable.

“You, too, studs,” the man snapped at Duncan, waving a hand to shoo him aside without really looking at him. “Beat it before ya get ya fancy shoes all muddy.”

And that blunt way of talking. How could Duncan forget it? A smile spread across his face and his heart lifted. “My apologies for getting in the way, Leo.”

“It’s Leonardo, for cryin’ out loud! How hard is it to stumble through my whole name, ya—” Here, the small man turned around to glare up at Duncan, and when he did, recognition flashed in his eyes. “Dunky!”

Duncan laughed at the troublesome nickname and embraced his friend. “A pleasure to see you again, too!”

Leo slapped his back a few times. “No one told me you was gonna be back!”

“I didn’t know myself! I was on a boat that didn’t know if it was going to make it across! But I thought of you often, Leo. There were a group of men on board who sounded straight from New York, as I heard them say, and they sounded exactly like you! It was quite a relief to hear something that sounded close to home!”

Leo laughed and stepped back, giving Duncan a once over. “No wonder I didn’t recognize ya! You’ve got too much Britain in ya, look at those duds!” He tugged on the lapel of his overcoat.

Duncan looked down at his black coat and polished walking stick. “Yes, I suppose this is too much for Sunvale. You must understand that it nearly always rains in London.”

“It ain’t just that, pal,” Leo said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Ya look sickly. You’re all pale. You need to hang around here a while until you remember you was born under the sun.”

Duncan laughed and took off his hat to feel the sun Leo spoke of. Just that movement made him feel more free than he had in a long time. The people he had surrounded himself with while in London had convinced him there was always an expectation to live up to. The shopkeepers and everyday folk were quite pleasant, of course, but those who specialized in the academics had a rather haughty view of how a person ought to present themselves. He did not realize he had gotten so stuffy until he returned home and felt the freedom and tranquility of Sunvale. He ran a hair through his messy blond hair, the one thing he had not been able to tame to match the slick men of the university. Now, as the wind blew through the valley and ruffled the wiry strands, he was glad he had never tried to tame his hair. He let it rebel as proudly as it wished.

With that thought settled and appreciated, Duncan looked down at Leo and gestured to the body on the ground with his walking stick. “Leo, I didn’t know you had gone into police business.”

Leo let out a sigh. “I’m not. I’m just too nice to turn down a favor.” He turned to look at the dead body, hands on his hips. “Chief Sikes took a week to visit his parents in the city. He asked me to keep an eye on things. Nothing more than this ever happens around here, though.”

Duncan felt his heart clench again when he moved forward and saw the dead man’s face. The eyes were closed, but the set of the jaw gave the image of someone very kind. It was hard to believe he would die of something as terrible as drunkenness. “I heard mention that dear Ethel Bernard passed last night as well.”

Leo nodded and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah… we all knew it was comin’… only thing I hate is that her money won’t go to the church like she said it should.”

Both eyebrows raised in surprise, Duncan looked at his old friend. “No? But she said that it would! To the church and to the poor!”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me… but some smart mouth, slick eyed scab by the name of David Webling got into her head these last few months. She rewrote her will and left it all to him.”

Duncan was startled into silence. Ethel Bernard had always seemed so responsible and wise, even in her old age. It sounded ridiculous that she would do something like change her heart over where her money went. He stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at his friend.

Leo snorted. “I know, that’s about how Preacher looked.”

“But that is not what she wanted!”

“It’s not. But this fella reminded her so much of her son, the one she lost in the war? That was all it took and the next thing ya know…” Leo held out his hands to indicate the situation.

“Well, surely they can understand that she was quite elderly. Perhaps she was slowly losing touch with reality? What if she believed he was her son and mistakenly left it all to him?” Duncan was searching the situation for some error, something that would tell him why things were not adding up as they should.

“She was as sharp as she always was, pal. Somethin’ fishy happened with that fella and I don’t like it. But what can we do? Even if the will was forged, we can’t prove it. Smartmouth has it all comin’ to him, and believe me he won’t give it to the church. He doesn’t much like how Preacher keeps sermonizing on gamblin’.”

Duncan’s stomach turned at the disservice that had been done to Mrs. Bernard. Something was not right.

“Oh, not you again…” Leo groaned suddenly.

Duncan looked up, surprised to see a girl peeking around the corner of the house. Coils and curls of brown hair framed her face and she clutched to a basket with a gray ribbon tied to it. She was staring intently at the man on the ground.

Leo marched over to her and pointed back to the street. “You’re not sniffin’ this dead body, so get lost!”

Duncan looked from the girl to Leo, eyebrow raised. Often times he was confused by Leo’s northern analogies and phrases, but he was completely baffled by this one. Sniffing this dead body? Was that slang he had not yet heard?

The girl did not move. She clutched tightly to her basket as though it was the only thing keeping her rooted to the earth as she stared hard at the dead man.

Leo rolled his eyes and turned back to Duncan. “This gal is weird. She feels she’s gotta sniff every thing she comes across. It’s creepy.”

“You must let me sniff this one,” the girl insisted.

“No. Read my lips. No. He’s dead. He died drunk. End of story.”

“No. He couldn’t have.” The indignation in the girl’s eyes matched that of Duncan’s when he learned of what was to happen to Mrs. Bernard’s money. Her anger was genuine. Curious as to what she felt was out of place, Duncan walked over to her and Leo.

She looked to be near nineteen when he came closer, a simple face that was framed prettily by her coils of soft brown. Blue-gray eyes stared harshly at Leo, not even acknowledging Duncan’s presence. “He could not have been drunk, Leonardo, I refuse to believe it!”

“The bottle’s right there, he’s got a lump as big as a Jersey rat on his head, and he’s some homeless man I’ve never seen before! What else could this be?”

“He. Was. Not. Drunk. Smell him yourself!”

“Smell him my—!” Leo threw his hands into the air and turned to face Duncan. “You see what I have to put up with? Chief can get someone else to fill in for him next time, I ain’t doin’ this.” He turned back to the girl. “Go smell him! Be weird! See if I care!”

Without a word, the girl passed between Duncan and Leo to kneel down and sniff the dead man’s breath. Leo crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “You done?”

“Yes, I am.” She stood up and straightened her shoulders. “He smells of pine trees. Not liquor. He was not drunk. I knew this man, Leonardo.”

“Oh, really, now? Did you? What was his name then, sweetie?”

She looked to the ground. “I… don’t know.

“That’s what I thought.”

“But he talked to me!” she insisted fiercely, gripping her basket. “He talked to me on Blueberry Lane. He was there, watching the river. We’ve talked a couple of times. He’s homeless because his father was a drunkard and kicked him out of the house. He hates liquor! He would never drink it! He’s lonely and thinks no one will want to talk to him because he is homeless and stinks. But I’ve never thought he stinks! He smells of pine trees all the time.”

Duncan sensed how Leo relaxed a little. The girl was tugging at the gray ribbon on her basket now—a ribbon which Duncan could now see had once been white—and he could hear the crack in her voice. Though her eyes were downcast, he was certain they were glistening with unshed tears. She had spoken with the kind man before this and now he was dead in a way that did not fit him. Duncan had felt a strangeness about it, too, that a man who looked so kind would turn to that way of life.

“I do know he’s in Heaven…” she added softly. “He spoke of meeting a clockmaker one time while wandering, a man who spoke only of the goodness of God. The clockmaker gave him a job and helped him. He would show him how the clocks worked and how that was like God’s plan for the world, all working perfectly and in sync. He… he said he accepted God when he realized that getting kicked out of his home allowed him to meet a clockmaker whom he would have never met otherwise. The clockmaker died and he was alone again, but the clockmaker spoke of the little church in Sunvale… so he came here. He was just… getting used to the land before he inquired about work. He would sit by the river a lot. We spoke many times of how God works… but I never learned his name…”

The man the girl spoke of sounded more like the man Duncan was looking at. He could not help but glance at the man again and note the peaceful set to his face. That was the face of someone who knew where his end was to be. The description the young lady gave fit properly into the equation, and though he did not have proof of it, he believed it.

Before he could open his mouth to say as much to Leo, his friend held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I know. You believe her. You always were a sucker for a sob story.”

Duncan smiled, knowing Leo believed her, too.

Leo in turn gave vent to a sigh. “Okay, so he wasn’t drunk… maybe the bottle is someone else’s. Maybe he just fell and hit his head.”

The girl smiled with relief at Leo. “Thank you, Leonardo. I didn’t want anyone to believe he had died a drunkard’s death. Perhaps something nice will be said at his funeral.”

Duncan nodded, pleased to see some sense made of the happenings he had witnessed this morning. The exact cause of death was still a mystery, but at least the kind man was as kind as he looked. Duncan took this as a chance to introduce himself. He made the motion of going to remove his hat and remembered partway through the motion that he had already removed it. He instead held his hand out to the girl.

“Duncan Gilfillan, at your service, miss.”

The girl looked surprised to see him standing there, like he had been invisible this whole time. Confronted with an introduction, she gave a pleasant smile and returned his handshake with a firmness he had not been expecting. “I’m Willy,” she said.

He tilted his head and looked to Leo. “Willy?”

“Wilhelmina Kent,” Leo said. “Her family moved in about six months ago. Got a farm going near Blueberry Lane. I ain’t seen her folks yet, but she comes into town sometimes.”

Duncan snapped his fingers and faced Willy again. “Oh, yes, the Kents! Roy wrote to me about your father! He said he has quite the interest in locomotives and steam cars.”

Willy nodded. “Yes, he does. We used to live by a train track. You must be Duncan, then, Roy’s older brother.”

“The one and only.” Again, he went to tip his hat and recalled he was holding it, not wearing it. To save himself from the awkwardness of the empty gesture, he chose to adjust his hair, clearing his throat and standing up straight.

“All right, you can flirt another day, big guy, and try doin’ it with a gal who has her head on straight.” Leo grabbed both Duncan’s arm and Willy’s, shoving them both toward the streets. “Go on, go on, I’ve got stuff to do. Coroner should be here soon enough and you know he don’t like an audience. Besides, folks is gatherin’ at the church to discuss Mrs. Bernard’s house and possessions. Funeral’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, now I’m mad all over again!” Willy exclaimed with a stomp of her foot. “I don’t like that slimy man who’s ruined everything!”

Duncan looked down at Leo. “Yes, can anything be done about that? I recall Mr. Hanswood is very good with legal matters of this caliber.”

Leo gave Duncan a look. “Ya spent too much time with them Brits, Dunky. Ya startin’ to sound like ‘em.” He let go of their arms once they were away from the body. “But I’ve a mind to do somethin’ about this if I’m gonna be actin’ police chief. If old Hanswood can do anything I’d be grateful for it. We all would. Why don’t ya go talk to him sometime this week, Dunky? His fancy way of dealin’ with word is right up your alley. I still gotta make a report of all this stuff.”

And with that, Leo went back to the body.

“Oh, it isn’t at all fair, you know, that slimy rat!”

Duncan looked to Willy once more, seeing her face flushed with anger. “I don’t believe that man was right to trick Miss Ethel like that!”

“You believe he tricked her?” Duncan asked. “If he did, then that can be decided in a court of law and her money can go to where it was originally intended to go.”

Willy pulled at the ribbons on her basket again. “Oh, I don’t know for certain. But I just… have this feeling. I get those a lot. Mama says I shouldn’t dwell on them too much… but they’re always so right! Why must I wait to be a mother before women’s intuition should set in?”

Duncan knew precious little about women’s intuition and felt he had no way of reassuring the girl in that aspect. “Well, I will see what I can do about the legal matters, Wilhelmina. I don’t like seeing Mrs. Bernard’s money going to a man who may not use it well.”

“Oh! Mother wanted these blueberries! Goodbye, Mr. Gilfillan!” Before Duncan could say anymore, she had run off down the lane towards the path that curved around the valley and into what he knew was the road lined with berry bushes.

He chuckled as she disappeared, then looked across the street to his workshop. The morning had been strange, but it not in a bad way. Two hearts had stopped beating, and yet he knew with confidence where they both resided. The only problems were being handled by people who cared.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Duncan headed to the platform to retrieve his luggage. He collected everything and carried it up to the door of the shop, knocking a few times before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The shop was just the same as he remembered it. The grinding of gears and whistling of steam from some contraption Roy had going was a welcoming noise. Duncan hung his hat and walking stick on the rack by the door and stepped further inside. The hiss and spark of a welding tool told him that either his father or brother was in the corner, crouched over what looked to be a wagon axle. The bell that rang above his head was drowned out by all of the noise, but when he got closer, the man in the leather apron and mask sat up straight. When he pulled the mask off, Duncan recognized the tanned face of his little brother and was surprised to see how much Roy looked more like his father. Four years had done a good work on him.

“Duncan!” The boyish light in his eyes said that this was still his little brother. The torch was tossed aside and Duncan was hit with a mass of pure muscle and energy. He laughed and embraced his brother, again reminded of how much he missed his home.

“How was your trip? It was a steamboat, right? What was it like? How big was it?”

Duncan laughed and held his brother at arm’s length, seeing how much taller and broader he was. Roy had taken after his father, that was for certain. Duncan had, too, but he did not stay in the business of crafting and repairing, and for that, he was the slightest bit narrower than Roy.

“Of course, you would only ask about that.”

Roy hopped in place, still as if he were the twelve year old Duncan had said goodbye to. “Tell me everything about it!”

“Duncan? Is that you?” The booming voice was that of his father. The large man filled a doorway when he came into a room and Duncan’s grin widened of its own accord. His father’s arms were around him in a moment, laughing and greeting his returned son. It was not until they all departed for a bit of a lunch in the house when his mother held his face in her two soft hands that Duncan knew he was home.