As some of you know, originally the SHENANDOAH ALBUM series was planned as a trilogy. But as I wrote each novel I found more characters I wanted to explore, more facets of life in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia that I wanted to research and, of course, more quilts that spoke to me and told me their stories. So Loverâs Knot is the third book of the series, but itâs not planned to be the final one. For those who have read the preceding books, you will find old friends. For those who havenât, you will not be confused.
In this story, the historical events relating to the establishment of the Shenandoah National Park are as accurate as I can portray them. Of course, as always, the particular characters and the drama of their lives are my own creation. The group The Way We Were is my invention, but there is a real group, Children of the Shenandoah, made up of families and descendants of families who were evicted from the area that is now the park. The trauma of upheaval continues into the new century.
Leahâs âcuresâ are based on real folk medicine used during that time in the Blue Ridge Mountains and beyond. They are, of course, included for their historical, not their medicinal, value. In other words, donât try them at home. As I researched this novel, I had the opportunity to hike some of the trails in the park and enjoy autumn mountain views from Skyline Drive. I walked through orchards now grown up with hardwoods and pines, imagined cabins and fences and animals grazing. And all the while those ghosts spoke to me, I was also aware that had the park never been established, this glorious but fragile landscape would not exist for so many of us to enjoy.
My thanks to all the readers who have e-mailed or written to tell me you are enjoying this series and life in Toms Brook, Virginia. May you enjoy this new peek, as well.
Emilie
By the time the Law & Order prosecutors had chosen their final strategy for another Wednesday night trial, Kendra Taylor had narrowed her own strategies to two. Either she could gracefully give up the ghost right there in front of her television set, or she could dress and drive to the drugstore to pick up the antibiotics and cough medicine her doctor had prescribed.
The first prospect was more tempting. If Isaac ever came home from work, her husband of seven years would find her lifeless body curled into the fetal position under his heirloom Loverâs Knot quilt. Imagining that scene gave her some satisfaction. And oblivion was preferable to another coughing fit.
Unfortunately, bronchitis was rarely fatal, and she was too upset to let go. She was definitely too upset to follow the third and wisest course and let Isaac pick up her prescription first thing in the morning. Tonight Isaac had failed her, and she was in no mood for second chances. The pharmacy was open for another twenty-five minutes. Her prescriptions were sitting behind the counter. Life as sheâd known it before this bout with flu was a goal to shoot for.
Kendra tossed the quilt over the back of the sofa and sat up, face in hands until the first wave of dizziness passed. Once she was on her feet and moving, she felt steadier. In her bedroom, she stopped at the window and parted a garden of hanging ferns to gaze down at the rain-glazed street. Fractured light from street lamps and passing cars was held captive by a cold mist rising from the pavement.
She lowered herself to the king-size bed she and Isaac shared, flattening the down comforter that looked so inviting, so soft. So incredibly warm.
She reconsidered her options until another coughing spell sent her into cannonball position. When the spell abated, her resolve hardened. Without getting up, she managed to slide out of her nightgown and into the jeans and Washington Capitals sweatshirt sheâd abandoned after her trip to the doctor.
âOkay, world, here I come.â She sounded less than enthusiastic, but at least her voice was still audible.
On her way out of the condo, she slung her purse over her shoulder, stuffed her feet into stretched-out Ferragamo loafers and locked the door behind her. No one was in the hall, not an unusual occurrence in a building favored by childless workaholics who spent evenings bent over desks and weekends making up for sleep deficits. She and Isaac only rarely ran into their neighborsâa good thing, because, at the moment, she couldnât even remember names.
