Chapter 3

"A mistress?" Otis stood, unable to remain still with such news ringing in his ears like a bugle announcing a change in course.

"My brother had a kept woman." He ran his hand over the brim of his hat. "I never would have suspected—but what does that

have to do with me?"

Father's letters had been brief, simple descriptions of Monticello happenings and excuses for why Otis couldn't come back.

Not once was there mention of his brother courting or... or cavorting about like a cad.

"When you didn't rush home right away," Leon said, "I took the liberty of looking through the account books to learn how crucial

it was for you to settle the finances here. I wanted to protect your assets the best I could. That's when I discovered your

brother's affinity for gambling, as well as how disorderly his books were and..." The older man paused, his face reddening.

"And that your brother was spending money on other tarnished pursuits."

"Wasteful," Otis muttered.

"Most alarming are the monthly entries marked Elisabeth . I thought perhaps she was doing some domestic service, but Mildred handles the house affairs. I can think of no other explanation than that your brother was paying a woman an allowance for her... services."

"The matter is disturbing, but whoever this Elisabeth is, she must know he is dead. I don't owe her anything."

"That is what logic tells me as well." Leon opened his mouth and quickly closed it again.

"But?"

Leon's chair creaked as he shifted uneasily. "But what if my assumptions are wrong and Elisabeth is someone else? What if

she is someone who depends on the monthly income? Reginald's books are a horrid—I've never seen such a mess. The only consistent

entry is the ‘Elisabeth' entry. Which leads me to believe she meant something to him."

"Perhaps Elisabeth is a favorite horse that he bet on monthly or the name of a widow he cared for." This game of guessing

was a waste of time. If they had Elisabeth's scent, Wolf might be able to track her down, but as it was, she was simply a

name. Another piece of his family's past that he would never understand.

"Well, I don't know of any racehorses named Elisabeth, and I never saw your brother keep company with widows." Leon's brow

furrowed into deep rows, like a field ready for planting. "You're right, it could be anyone. I simply wanted to voice my concern

so you could do with it what you wanted. Perhaps when we look over the books together, something will turn up. There are stacks

of unopened correspondence, unpaid bills. We'll do what we can with what we have, and if we learn nothing about Elisabeth,

then we may assume that whoever she is, she is well. Now, tell me, does anyone know you've returned?"

"I paid the driver to keep my return to himself. He seemed honest, but only time will tell if he is the nefarious sort."

"How long do you plan to keep your return a secret?" Leon asked slowly.

"I'll spend the entirety of my time here unannounced, if possible. Father loved a big show—he was always getting attention

for everything he did. I don't want that. The citizens of Monticello can go on believing that I left home for career pursuits,

for all I care. They don't deserve an explanation, and I don't need an audience."

"Ah, a humble Taylor man is an oddity, but in a good way."

"I am an oddity, but I'm not humble." Otis shook his head, uncomfortable with the praise. "I am private, a hermit, if you

will."

Leon rubbed at his large nose, scratching an invisible itch. "I respect your desire for discretion, though I fear it may prove

difficult. You may have to make yourself known when you handle the finances with the banks and the property sells."

Otis covered a yawn. The night of no sleep was catching up to him. Though, in actuality, he'd had many nights of little sleep,

tossing and turning as he anticipated his return to Monticello. Banking, property transfers, a mistress... his tired brain

struggled to make sense of it.

His own finances had been simple. When Otis was a youth, his father had paid his teacher for his care and vow of secrecy. As an adult, he'd composed music while living in an old gardener's house on the very property he'd been exiled to. His old teacher handled the music requests, he wrote the compositions, and then he was paid. He had food delivered, and on occasion he'd order a new suit, but other than paying for necessities, he had little need for money. And all transactions had been handled quietly, giving him little experience with large expenditures or complicated bookkeeping. His name was lauded and known among his pianist peers, but fame had not been enough to pull him from the shadows.

Leon stood and patted him on the shoulder. "All of that can wait. Go and rest."

Otis nodded, tempted to say something more, to tell the old man that—though he hated being back in Monticello—he was glad

to see a friendly face. Instead, he nodded again. His uneasiness served as a reminder that it was best to keep to himself.

If he couldn't talk easily with a welcoming old man, he would be an abysmal failure if he were to attempt a social endeavor.

"It's good having you home," Leon said. "Mildred will send you up a meal when you're rested. She's been looking forward to

your return ever since you sent word you were coming. She's so eager to see you that she's ready to kill the fatted calf."

Otis turned away, surprised by the tears that stung his eyes. He cleared his throat. "Tell her that I am grateful for her

kindness."

Otis returned to the guest room he'd declared his refuge for now, refusing to step foot in the room he'd slept in as a boy.

He was too afraid to find it the same and equally afraid to find it altered. This room was smaller, but he didn't care. It

met his needs and was furnished with pieces he had no memories of. There were no family portraits, no family heirlooms, and

no belongings he'd left behind when he was a boy. It was a safe room, or so he thought.

He lay down and closed his eyes, expecting the heaviness of sleep to win at last. Instead, he saw his father the night he

shared that Otis was to leave.

"I've made arrangements," his father said all those years ago. "A family outside Boston takes in music students. The man is very old and has decided to stop boarding and tutoring. I've reached out to him, and for a fee he has agreed to take you on as his only student. Their home is far out in the country, away from gawking eyes. You can play your music and enjoy peace while you recover. No one will ever know about your condition."

His father smiled as though he were making a great sacrifice by sending Otis away. Pleased with himself, he'd even sat back

and begun lighting his pipe.

"I don't understand. When will I return?" Otis's still-changing voice cracked. He'd argued with his father many times, insisting

that his life go on as before, but this time he was too shaken to fight. "Will I come back for Christmas?"

His father refused to meet his gaze. He looked at his feet, at the drawn drapes, at the pipe in his hands... anywhere but

at Otis. It was then Otis knew for certain that his father's gift of music was only given to ease his own conscience and rid himself of his disappointing son. "When you're recovered you can

come back, and things in Monticello will be as before. Until then it is best for you to focus on your music and continue with

the tonics and the plasters."

Two weeks later Otis left with no return date and without so much as a goodbye to his friends. Tears filled his eyes as he

was driven away from the only home he'd ever known. For years he waited, clinging to hope that one day he would be beckoned

home, that old relationships could be rekindled. But he was never summoned. There had been no reconciliation. There was never

another carefree day spent with his chums—Dan, Wilbur, and Andrew grew up without him. There was no sitting beside his father's

bedside when he passed, no fatherly advice, and certainly no rekindling of familial feelings. Like a shoe that rubbed the

wrong way, he was cast off.

"Why?" he whispered into the early morning light.

Wolf walked over and sat beside the bed. He propped his jaw up beside Otis's face and whimpered. From the start, Otis had been convinced Wolf understood more than he could say.

Otis put his hand on the dog's head. "It's all right. Just bad memories. We'll get out of this place quick as we can."

***

Sadie was more cautious than ever as she snuck back across the road to the old factory at the end of her workday. She had

a new loaf of bread, a knapsack full of feathers, and a stick in hand. Every dog she'd ever owned knew how to fetch a stick.

Half the canines that had walked the West land had been unable to control their excitement at the thought of chasing a flying

object. She could only hope this blue dog found as much sport in it.

The dark sky made it difficult to pick her path as stealthily as she wished, but she'd been too fearful to come earlier. She

looked past the factory to the mansion. A sliver of light shone between the drapes—someone was there. Other nights she'd seen

light, too, only now she feared whoever lived inside the ominous house had recently acquired a dog.

She hefted herself through the factory window and, quick as she could, went to her corner and sat near a window that faced

the moon. The light was dim, but it would have to do. At work she'd asked Mr.Hoag if she could have feathers from the discard

bin. He'd given her a curious look but agreed.

Now back in her makeshift home, she sat on the floor with her knapsack full of mangled feathers and set to work stitching a ragged curtain into a pillow. She laughed softly to herself. What would Marvin think of her, sitting on the floor, legs crossed in an unladylike fashion, sewing rags together so she could lay her dirty head upon it as she shivered through the night? Rag pillows, running from the creek in her underclothes—what an unexpected life she was leading.

She picked up one of the small feathers and brushed it across her palm.

A dog bawled. She threw the feather to the ground and listened. It howled, like a sick wolf, yelling up at the moon. The sound

grew louder... closer. Sadie sprang from her spot and rushed to the corner, ready to hide in the darkest of shadows, before

changing course and heading to the window.

"Stop that," she commanded. To this, the animal only tilted his head back and readied to bawl again. "No, no, no."

She climbed out of the window and patted the crate she used for a stool. There was no one in sight, but still she worried.

"Quiet down and you can come inside. Climb up."

The dog's head came down. For a moment its perpetual frown seemed to be replaced with a smirk. Sadie rolled her eyes. Outsmarted

by a dog. She could add that to her list of indignities. He climbed up, turned, and looked at her. She patted his head and

paused her worrying long enough to get a good look at the animal. He was a male, medium-sized. The floppy-eared rascal.

"Where have you come from?" she asked after they were settled beside each other in her bedroom corner. "You have a collar

with no name on it. You ought to tell your owner that a collar is for more than walking a dog. Your stomach appears more rounded

than mine, so I am sure that you do have an owner. Where is he?"

The dog lifted a leg and scratched at the collar around his neck. How quickly he'd made himself at home.

"Do you mind if I give you a name?" She stroked his head, feeling less alone, thanks to the dog's company. "I suppose you

already have one, but I don't know it..."

She studied him a moment before yawning. "I'm too tired," she said and then yawned again. "I'll call you Blue. You can stay if you like, but I don't have much to feed you. And I smell awful. And I can't promise to be good company."

He sat beside her and rested his head on her lap, unaffected by her decree of poverty. For no reason at all a powerful urge

to cry swept over her, but she fought off the tears. He was a dog. Of course he cared nothing for her financial status or

the state of her attire. Still, she felt comforted, grateful for his large, accepting eyes.

"My mama never let the dogs sleep with us. But it's cold. You can stay if you want."

Blue, her new friend, her only friend in Monticello, didn't leave her the entire night.

***

... I've made a friend and feel far less lonely now....