Heart of Stone Read Free

wrapped as she was in the long silky robe, she reminded Lovie of a delicate wax candle topped by a shimmering flame. She was stunning.
    Lovie stopped staring at the woman’s hair and robe long enough to look into her eyes. She couldn’t always trust the things people said, but she’d learned to search for the truth in their eyes. But this woman’s eyes lacked any expression whatsoever. No curiosity, no warmth. No joy, no sorrow. There was none of the bitterness she’d seen in Aunt Maddie’s eyes, none of the eternal hope and bottomless love her mother’s eyes possessed.
    It was as if someone had snuffed out all the feeling in her.
    Maybe this is why they need some children here
, Lovie thought.A glimmer of hope sparked inside her. Ma had always called them her angels, her joy. Perhaps she and Megan were here to bring joy to this woman who looked at them with such blankness behind her eyes.
    Ignoring Lovie and Megan, the woman said to Uncle Tim, “Wait here,
s’il vous plaît.
I will get him.” Unlike her cold eyes, her voice was warm. It reminded Lovie of the sultry New Orleans air.
    The woman walked away, barely holding her robe closed. Lovie peered past her into the room beyond. It was a huge kitchen, larger than Uncle Tim’s two rooms put together. Bigger even than their thatched-roofed cottage back in Ireland. There were two other women inside, both seated at a table. Both wore the grandest gowns Lovie had ever seen. The fabric was bright and shiny—one crimson red, the other the color of a ripe plum. Rows and rows of ruffles cascaded from their waists to the floor.
    Steaming cups of liquid sat on the table in front of the women. One yawned and rested her head upon her forearm as the other woman slowly turned to face the door. She noticed Megan first before her gaze finally drifted to Lovie.
    When their eyes met, the woman across the room turned away—but not before Lovie saw the flash of anger in the woman’s eyes. A flash of anger quickly replaced by a wash of shame.
    She waved them in but Lovie didn’t move. Despite Uncle Tim’s threatening presence, despite the women staring at them from across the room, Lovie wrapped her arm protectively around Megan’s shoulders and pulled her close. She’d made Ma a promise and she intended to keep it.
    She whispered, “No matter what, Megan, I’ll watch out for you. No matter what.”
    Her uncle pushed them over the threshold.
    It wasn’t more than a few hours later that Lovie saw her sister for the last time. Megan lay draped over the shoulder of a tall, long-limbed man who carried her screaming down a lengthy, narrow hallway.

TWO
GLORY, TEXAS, 1874
    L aura Foster awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and bolted upright. It took a moment for her to realize she’d been dreaming, that she wasn’t eleven years old anymore. That she wasn’t in a brothel in New Orleans.
    Her gaze swept the shadowed interior of her room. Momentarily confused, she waited until the foggy remnants of sleep lifted, until she remembered where she was and who she was now.
    She threw back the fine Egyptian-cotton sheets and climbed out of the bed that was among her most prized possessions. She’d paid a small fortune for the piece crafted by the famed cabinet-maker, Belter. The side rails were fashioned out of bent rosewood laminate. The headboard was ornamented with a detailed, carved basket of fruit flanked by a pair of cherubs.
    If only the bed could ensure sweet dreams, it would be worth the hard-earned gold she’d paid for it.
    Barefooted, she padded across the room to her dressing table. A chenille runner covered its marble top, a cushioned base for her feminine paraphernalia—perfume bottles, a silver-backed hairbrush, hairpins stored in collection of alabaster boxes.
    She caught a glimpse of her muted image in the mirror abovethe table—her long, heavy hair hanging in untamed curls about her shoulders. In the dark, her full white nightgown gave the impression