"Minerva! Where is that woman when you need her?" Tobias bellowed.
"Right here, you old fool. Calm down; you'll get apoplexy." Without being told, she retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cabinet. It was kept there for medicinal purposes on orders from Dr. Tobias Gentry. She poured a healthy draught.
Tobias looked up at Zach. "Megan and I told you about the years after he came to Resolute. But I first met Nicholas Tennant in Sydney. He never spoke about the past, felt it was best forgotten. Then those last months before he was killed, he seemed to change his mind, especially after he knew Megan was carryin' you.
"He hoped for a son," he continued. "I know he'd be real proud of you. He told me about the journal. He said if anything ever happened, I was to make sure you got it after yer mother was gone. He felt you'd have a need someday to know about all the years before he came here." Tobias took a liberal swallow of themedicinalcoffee. Reaching out, he thumped the trunk.
"It’s all in there; everything about when he was a young man. You read it."
"Megan told me everything." Zach's gaze impaled the case as if he might see the contents without opening it. A shiver throbbed along his nerve endings, almost as if he were reluctant to know what might be inside.
The old man rose from his chair, setting the drained cup down hard on the table. "She told you what she knew, what she'd been told by your father, what life was like after she came to Resolute. But it wasn't everything." Tobias slowly came back to the table. Leaning across it, he braced his weight on his knuckles.
"There's a great deal you don't know about Nicholas Tennant because he never told anyone else. I only knew bits and pieces, as much as he wanted me to know, and I never questioned him. We all had our secrets in those days." He ran a hand over the trunk, regret lining his face; regret for the old wounds he feared the truth might bring.
"When you've finished, I'll be down at the barn. That mare's gonna foal anytime. Horses or babies, it doesn't make much difference." Grabbing his hat, Tobias shoved it down hard on his head. But he stopped at the door to the dining room and held out his hand. Frowning her disapproval, Minnie nonetheless held her tongue and handed him the whiskey bottle.
Zach stared at the satchel. After draining his coffee, he reached for it and twisted the latch. It opened freely.
The dusty journal lay on top, its leather binding cracked and worn, the pages slightly faded. Zach read the opening entry:
London, England June 7, 1839
I begin this journey into hell. One day I will return and have my day of justice for the crime of which I am accused.
I will reclaim my birthright from those who have accused me. And, God willing, Felicia will be waiting for me. I shall now be called Nicholas Tennant.
Zach stared hard at the neatly scrawled words of a man taking on a new identity. Turning the pages, he slowly began reading about the man he'd never known, his father, Nicholas Tennant. The words pulled at him, drawing him back to another time and place. Her name appeared again—Felicia. The night breeze stirred the drapes at the windows. Already, mist slipped heavily across the land, bathing it in unnatural light. Felicia. Her name was like a whisper across his soul.
He looked up. The soft glow of the lamp was creating golden pools in the room. His eyes ached from reading. The opening passages began with the voyage from England, and a detailed description of the squalid conditions aboard ship. Again, that name appeared, almost like a litany spoken to ward off the suffering and longing of the young man who'd made the entries so long ago. As he read, Zach's fascination grew. Who was Felicia? And what was the crime his father had been accused of? Before, he'd believed his father was a settler who'd arrived like so many in the early years of the colonies. But the entries he read were hardly the words of a man at peace with his life or the land where he'd been thrust. Anger and the desire for revenge leaped at him from the pages.
Zach sat back in his chair, the chair his father had once used.
The name haunted him. Felicia. Who was she? Zach slammed the journal shut, not yet fully read. He reached for a thick bundle of neatly folded papers at the bottom of the satchel. They were official government documents.
One was an unconditional grant of land. Zach set it aside, knowing it was the deed to the land at Resolute. Scanning the other documents, he found one that was torn into several pieces.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the elaborately scrawled words on one piece. Then, as he held several pieces together, hard lines formed between his brows. The wordsForm of Conditional Pardonleaped off the paper at him.
The kitchen door slammed behind him as he stormed across the yard, mist swirling in his wake. Not finding Tobias in the barn, he rounded the paddock, throwing the door to the small office back hard on its hinges. Eyes blazing, he heaved the journal down on the desk. It hit the hard surface with a damning thud.
"My father was a convict!"
Tobias winced, the whiskey having failed to completely dull his senses. The accusation echoed in the small office, bringing back a flood of memories filled with secrets. He pushed himself back in the hard chair, squinting to focus his weary eyes. He sighed heavily.
"Megan's mare threw a fine colt," he replied dully. "That line will produce some good horses."
Zach descended on the desk and the man behind it. Hands twisting the front of Tobias’ shirt, he hauled him upright. "It's true, isn't it!"
"Aye, it's true," the old man acknowledged, pulling himself free. "As were a lot of us sent to serve out our sentences.
The full impact of his response slowly registered with Zach. He let Tobias fall back into the chair. "You were a convict?"
Tobias nodded as he slumped wearily, shoulders sagging. "Aye," he admitted gruffly, his gaze dropping to Zach's clenched fists. "Those were hard times, harsh penalties."
"Why? In God’s name, what was your crime?”
Tobias rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "My crime?" he repeated thoughtfully. And then he laughed cynically. "My crime was my profession." He waved the next question aside.
