Miriam sighed as she sat on the front porch of the St. Cloud home watching the rain trickling down. "I am glad there haven't been more attacks, but I just wish we had more proof."

"We'll figure it out, Miriam," Taitiann said.

"You must be patient," Idris said. "I have seen these sorts of men before and they always strike again."

"But what will it cost?" Miriam said looking down at her gloved hands.

"Can you tell me more about them?" Idris asked.

"I've met them all before save for Mr. Woodrow," Jessop said from the opposite corner of the porch where he smoked. "Andrew Addams kept company with Mr. Rothschild and Mr. Burnstead in school. When Mr. Christenson would come up they'd all follow him around. They invited me to go a few times and I did but I preferred to be with my studies. Johnston I met when I first came here and he seemed like an all right fellow to be honest."

"Avery Johnston is a fool to run with them," Miriam said. "He's not from the same class."

"You can't tell him that," Taitiann said.

"If you ask me, Mr. Woodrow doesn't seem to be quite like the others either," Idris said.

"He's the one who wants Twelve Briars the most," Miriam objected. "And he wouldn't leave me alone about the school."

"I understand that," Idris said. "But I dare say, Miss Fairchild there is something more to it. The others have shallow intentions but he's missing something."

"You're confusing us, Idris," Jessop said flicking his cigarette and crossing the porch. "If you ask me the man has it in for these girls."

"I know very little about Mr. Woodrow," Miriam said. "My father told me that he lost his mother several years ago and that his uncle was looking after him in his father's stead."

"This is the same uncle that wants to turn your building into a gentlemen's club?" Idris asked and Miriam nodded. "I begin to see."

"See what?" Jessop had to ask.

"Mr. Woodrow is afraid of displeasing his uncle," Idris said. "It would be the death of him to see him displeased. His hate doesn't stem from his own being, but from he who sent him."

"But Papa says Mr. Christenson is fair," Taitiann said.

"If he was fair, Taitiann he wouldn't be trying to get that building back," Jessop said.

"Speaking of which, we really should be getting over there," Miriam said. "We need to make the most of Saturdays." They said goodbye and got into the wagon with Taitiann taking up the reins.

/

When they got to Twelve Briars and went inside Miriam stopped in the foyer and looked up at the ceiling. Each day that had passed, each hour, everyone had put so much work into it yet she could easily see them losing it only she didn't know what was taking them so long. Perhaps they were waiting for a magnificent way to forever remind them not to step out of line again.

/

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

A long way from home

A long way from home

Do believe us, a long way from home

A long way from home

The voice grew louder as Harlequin's hooves marched through the mud at the will of her rider. The shinning mare was halted before a little shack that looked to only be willing to accommodate one person and not one that planned on spending a lot of time in life.

Sumner dismounted and walked up to the rickety shack toward the old man on the slanted porch that could only fit one chair. He removed his hat sending a trickle of water to his boots.

"So you came," the man stopped singing long enough to say. "A long way from home."

"I want to know what you know about my father," Sumner said.

"A long way from home. What about him?"

"Whatever it is that you aren't telling me," Sumner said in frustration. "Was..." he looked around noting the free running mule with the bell around her neck. "Was I born out of wedlock?"

The old man raised his head and looked Sumner dead in the face. "Sonny, it was the marriage of your parents that got them in trouble and that was the right amount of time before you were born. A long way from home."

"Why didn't my mother marry Mr. Rothschild?" Sumner asked. "He was going to court her but changed his mind."

"She was already married."

"To my father?"

"Yes. To your real father that is. Mr. Woodrow was only the man that raised you. He gave you his name to protect you."

"I don't understand," Sumner said. "Why couldn't he just tell me he wasn't my father, why didn't my mother?"

"Mr. Woodrow died when you was still very young and you would have been angrier than anything," the old man said. "Your mama...well perhaps she tried and you wouldn't listen. After all...you desperately wanted to go off and get higher learning."

"How do you know so much?" Sumner asked.

"Little birds," the old man said. "A long way from home."

"Then...then who was Talbot Montgomery? Was he my father?" Sumner asked. "Where can I find his family?"

"Do believe us, a long way from home. In Christ's yard yonder," the old man said. "Look for St. Peter."

"Christ's yard?" Sumner asked. "You mean they live near a church? Which way?"

"Up the lane."

Sumner put his hat on then paused. "Will they receive me?"

"No one has ever been refused in Christ's yard," the old man said. "It's going to start coming down here, you best get to hurrying."'

Sumner turned to leave and fell flat in the mud. Getting to his feet he ran to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

A long way from home

A long way from home

When he reached the church he slowed Harlequin. There was evidence of what once was a fence but for the most part it was gone. The church still stood but there was no bell and you could see straight through the door to the rotted pews. He rode his horse through the tall grass around the church yard then halted her when her hoof hit something hard.

"Easy, girl," he said climbing down. He stooped down beside her to see what she had stepped on and noticed a single white stone. Pushing back the tall grass he could make out a name on it. "A graveyard?" He looked in every direction but there was not a house in sight. As he was turning back around he noticed the taller head stones peaking out through the grass. He slowly walked among them, stepping over the smaller ones catching faint names and dates.

He paused when he came upon a statue lying on the ground. It was wearing long robs covered in moss and was missing a hand though the other was holding a key. "Well hello, Peter," he said squatting down. He ran his eyes over the statue to where it had fallen. It hadn't crushed any tombstones when it came down. He looked to its head where it barely missed one. Still squatting, he worked his way to the headstone. "Here lies..." his heart stopped. "Talbot Montgomery. Beloved son, husband and father. He died the year I was born, Harlequin, 1872." He stood slowly. "He...didn't raise me. If he is my father then what's he doing way out here? What did he do to be buried in this old place?" He mounted his horse and rode out of the graveyard. "I don't know to believe that old man. I've never heard of Talbot Montgomery my whole life until him." The memory suddenly came back to him as though it had been waiting to hear the magic words that summoned it.

"You're getting on with your life, Sumner and you're leaving you old mother behind. What am I to do?"

"Attend social gatherings, write me...knit."

"My bright boy, you look so much like your father when you smile I wish he could have seen you grow up."

"He was here until I was seven."

His mother had smiled then. "Well with those gray eyes there is hardly any trace of him."

"Father's eyes were gray too,"

"No."

"But I remember you saying so. And Uncle says it all the time."

"No you have yet to understand, Talbot!"

He had frowned at this but then the maid came up and told him his coach had arrived and he kissed his mother and promised he would write everyday then he hurried away. The old man had been right! She had been trying to tell him but he wouldn't listen. But how did he know these things? Who told him of the private affairs of the Woodrow household?

Harlequin reared, shaking him from his thoughts. He steadied her and looked to see what startled her to find Avery picking himself up and climbing back into his saddle. "You shouldn't speed trough the rain."

Avery rubbed his arm. "Well you should watch where you're going. I always ride these roads, no one to stop me. Ouch! What are you doing out here anyways?"

"I...was..." he didn't want to say he had come to see a colored man. "I was visiting a family friend in the graveyard."

Avery craned his neck and looked pass him. "Your old nanny?"

"What?"

"Your old nanny," Avery repeated. "That there is a colored cemetery."

Sumner had never felt the feeling he suddenly felt then. Something inside him was coming undone. Avery had to be mistaken. Here he was ready to accept that perhaps his father hadn't been the man he was named for and that his mother had loved before, but this complicated things.

"Sumner?" Avery said with a frown. "What's wrong you look pale?"

Sumner touched his face, and all the times he had viewed it in the mirror told him he did not. In a flash he put Harlequin into a run and tore up the muddy road.

Do believe us, a long way from home