Chapter 13 - The Ghost in the Mist
By Saturday evening, the storm had completely broken. The sky over the Thorne Estate stretched out in a magnificent canopy of indigo and stars, the snowdrifts glowing soft silver under a full winter moon.
Inside the great hall, the hearth roared with birch and oak. Penny was fast asleep on the sofa, clutching a small wooden horse that Garrett had carved for her during the quiet evening.
Sarah sat at the heavy dining table, sipping hot spiced cider, her wedding ring glittering warmly in the firelight. Garrett walked up behind her, placing his strong, warm hands gently upon her shoulders. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the side of her neck, his breath warming her skin.
"The federal court in Cheyenne officially cleared the title this afternoon," Garrett whispered into her ear. "The Thorne Estate is ours, Sarah. Truly ours. No one will ever threaten this roof over our heads again."
Sarah turned in her chair, wrapping her arms around Garrett’s neck, her heart overflowing with a peace she had not known in all her life. "I didn't just find a roof for Penny, Garrett. I found a home. I found you."
Garrett smiled—a deep, joyful, unrestrained smile that completely transformed his scarred countenance—and pulled her close, kissing her with an overwhelming, tender devotion that sealed their victory and their future together.
Then, through the quiet warmth of the house, old Caleb’s voice shouted frantically from the front porch.
"Mr. Thorne! Sarah! Come out here quick! You need to see this!"
Garrett’s brow furrowed. He and Sarah quickly stepped onto the front porch, the freezing night air hitting their faces.
Down at the bottom of the long, moonlit driveway, where the mist hovered thick over the snow-covered pine trees, a solitary, cloaked figure on foot was staggering slowly toward the house. The figure walked with an unsteady, familiar gait, clutching a frayed leather military satchel.
As the moonlight cut through the rising fog, Sarah caught sight of the stranger’s pale, gaunt face beneath the tattered hat.
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. The tin mug of cider slipped from her fingers, shattering on the porch timber.
"No..." Sarah whispered, her face draining of every drop of blood, her whole body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. "No... it’s impossible. He died at Antietam four years ago..."
May you like
Garrett turned to look at his new wife, horror and confusion flashing across his eyes as the staggering man raised a trembling hand toward the porch, calling out with a voice that seemed to rise from the grave:
*"Sarah... Sarah, my love... I found you..."*
