Read Online Songs of the Shenandoah by Michael K. Reynolds - Free Book Online Page A

away and then instinctively turned and opened the door and entered. Once inside, he regretted his unintentional impertinence, but it would be foolish to go back outside now.
    â€œHello there? Clare?” Davin took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. He looked around the hallway and, following his discussion with Tristan, saw things through a more-jaundiced eye. The once-proud Royce Manor was now sagging and seemingly defeated. Gold-leafed paper was curling from the walls, paint was chipped, the wood on the stairway bannister was cracked, and even the ceilings seemed to droop.
    A young boy arrived in the hallway at such a speed that when he tried to stop, his feet skidded across the smooth floor. His eyes widened in fear at first, but then he relaxed.
    The boy turned and shouted, “Muriel! A man’s here.”
    Davin realized with some embarrassment that he hadn’t visited more than once or twice since the Christmas dinner.
    Behind him turning the corner came Muriel, dressed simply in the clothes of a housemaid. He hadn’t paid much heed to her appearance when he last saw her, but now that she was standing before him, he did. She was not unattractive by any means, pleasant enough with red curls, fair skin, and a gentleness to her demeanor. But Davin’s high-society standards had blunted him from appreciating any but the most physically striking of women. Mostly she was one he would normally pass by on the street without giving a second glance.
    Muriel dried her hands on her apron. “Why, Garret, that is not just a man, that is your uncle.” Her words had a melody to them from Ireland, but also an unfamiliarity to them that made it difficult for Davin to determine from which county she had arrived. She turned to him. “Davin, is that right?”
    â€œUncle Davin it is.” He knelt beside Garret. “Did you know I was your age when I last lived here?” He tapped the top of the boy’s head. “Where’s your mother?”
    â€œClare is at the newspaper.” There was a strength to Muriel’s voice that seemed mismatched with her appearance.
    â€œYes, of course.” Why hadn’t he thought of that? With all of the news to cover regarding the president’s call to arms, there would be much for Clare to do.
    Davin was disappointed, nonetheless. He was anxious to confront Clare regarding the unpleasantness of her finances. “So . . . you are the maid?”
    Muriel laughed. “Do I look the part of a maid?” She looked down at her clothes and smiled. “I suppose I do. No, I help the Royces out whenever I can. When I don’t have classes.”
    â€œShe’s a doctor,” Garret said.
    â€œYour uncle doesn’t believe women can be doctors.” She raised her chin with a strange confidence, one he was unused to seeing in a woman. He knew many beautiful ladies who were aware of their allure and employed them well, but Muriel’s verve seemed to be grounded in the strength of her intelligence. And so oddly placed in the hands of an Irish housemaid.
    She turned to Garret. “How about you get yourself to the kitchen and gather for your uncle some of those scones we baked?” The boy nodded and left the room.
    Muriel wiped her hands on her apron. “So, is there a message I should share with Clare?”
    Davin tugged on his earlobe. What message could he leave? “Oh . . . yes.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the telegram. “This came in.”
    â€œYes, I was expecting that.” She snatched it from his hands and tucked it in her dress pocket.
    He was startled by her aplomb. “Uh . . . how do you know it’s for you?”
    â€œThey come from my aunt.” Muriel narrowed her red brows. Her blue eyes were tinged with both yearning and melancholy. “She lives in Canada. Worries about me and sends them all of the time.”
    â€œWhat about the rest of your family?”