The Apothecary's Daughter (Romance/Mystery/Suspense) Read online

  The Apothecary’s

  Daughter

  Written By

  Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  Copyright © 2010 by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  Cover/internal design © 2010 Livingston Hall Publishers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form either written or electronically without the express permission of the author or publisher.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and are therefore used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to actual persons; living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  All brand names or product names mentioned in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names, and are the sole ownership of their respective holders. Livingston Hall Publishers is not associated with any products or brands named in this book.

  Also by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  LWF Amish Series

  Little Wild Flower Book I

  Little Wild Flower Book II

  The Taming of a Wild Flower

  Little Wild Flower: Unto Others

  General Fiction

  Grave Robbers

  The Anniversary

  Milk Maid in Heaven

  A Secret in the Attic

  Jacob’s Daughter Amish Series

  Jacob’s Daughter

  Amish Winter Wonderland

  Under the Mulberry Tree

  Amish Winter of Promises

  Chasing Fireflies

  Amish Summer of Courage

  Under the Harvest Moon

  The Quilter’s Son Amish Series

  Liam’s Choice

  Lydia’s Heart

  Nathan’s Apprentice

  Maddie’s Quilt

  Amish Volume Sets

  Amish Harvest

  Amish Courtship

  CHAPTER ONE

  I jolted upright in my bed, still in that sleep-state, my chest heaving as I fought for air, and tried to ignore the sensation I was falling. I was having the dream again, but I wasn’t sure how since I knew I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes. I wiped cold sweat from my brow, hoping the act would erase the cadaverous chill that had settled in my foreboding thoughts. I forced myself into wakefulness, knowing I wasn’t willing to sleep anymore because sleeping meant dreaming, and I needed to put an end to the visits from the little girl who plagued my dreams.

  I’d called her Amelia, as if I knew her. Though she looked strangely familiar, I felt as if we were unknowingly connected. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t save her from the frigid state from which she haunted my dreams because Amelia had obviously been dead for a very long time.

  I shivered. Maybe from the sudden change in weather, but more likely from the discerning chill that had taken up residence in my heart as a result of the last few days’ events. I wasn’t functioning well, or even coping beyond the present moment, much less looking forward to the forthcoming events with which I was powerless to avoid.

  I pushed my feet into my slippers to escape the cold, hardwood floor, and wrapped my robe around me. It was only the first week of October, but the past few nights had generated an extreme cold that had drawn my nightmares closer to life. I grabbed my cell phone and shuffled sleepily past my mother’s closed bedroom door, and then into the kitchen. Placing the vibrating phone on the counter, I let my thoughts drift back over the past week as I mindlessly went about my morning routine.

  I glanced down at my cell phone, trying to ignore the persistent vibrations. It was Emily again. Every time it vibrated, it drew closer to the edge of the counter, threatening to drop to the floor if I didn’t answer it. Determined to ignore the relentless calls, I sipped hot coffee, wishing for something stronger—something to numb my thoughts to match my deadening heart. The phone continued to nudge me from the stupor that threatened to overcome me. I knew if I didn’t pick it up, a text was sure to follow. Emily and I had been friends since fifth grade and she knew me all too well. She knew I was awake. She probably knew I was drinking my microwaved coffee and ignoring her call. I knew she wouldn’t stop calling until I gave in and answered.

  I lifted the buzzing phone to my ear, unable to speak.

  “Claire. How are you feeling?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” I managed.

  “A shot at humor. That’s a good sign.”

  “Emily, really, I’m not in the mood for small talk this morning. Why are you calling me so early?”

  “I was up with the baby. I just got her back to sleep, so I figured I’d check on you.”

  “How did you know I was up?”

  “I think I know your sleeping habits by now, Claire. I know you have a lot on your mind and I didn’t want you to be alone with your thoughts.”

  “I wasn’t entirely alone. I had the dream again.”

  Emily snorted. “The creepy one with the frozen dead girl?”

  “For some reason, I called her Amelia in this one. I don’t know an Amelia, but I have a terrible feeling I’m about to.”

  “Just keep repeating to yourself that it’s only a dream. I know it’s tough right now, Claire, but you have to keep your mind clear, and try to stay focused.”

  I sighed heavily. “Yeah, and what about you, Miss Busybody? Calling me at this hour.”

  “I had the baby to distract me, but I knew you’d be up trying to sort things out by yourself.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I have my cat. I’m not entirely alone here. And a good stiff drink would be enough to distract me. No offense, Emily, but a baby is not my idea of a good distraction.”

  “Don’t be so quick to rule it out. Having a baby is wonderful. You aren’t getting any younger, Claire.”

  “I’m only twenty-five. Besides, there’s one major problem with having a baby in my life right now. Did you forget I don’t have a husband?”

  “You don’t need a husband to have a baby.”

  “Seriously Em? Why would I have a baby without a husband? So I can struggle the way my mother did with me?”

  My mind flooded with thoughts of my mother again. Things I was trying not to think about. My mother had been raised in an orphanage, abandoned by a fifteen-year-old mother who had died giving birth to her. She never had the opportunity to have a real family because she lived in the orphanage until she was eighteen years old, when they pushed her out into the world where she became a transient hippie until she met my father.

  However, my father ran off only a week after their wedding, leaving her unexpectedly pregnant with me. Having no idea where he’d run off to or if he’d ever return, my mother finally settled down and raised me alone on the tips she earned as a waitress at Frank’s Diner. Now, as I mindlessly glanced down at my mother’s black rosary sitting in a clump on the kitchen counter, I realized I was now an orphan just like my mother had been.

  I glanced at the clock on the stove and realized Emily was still talking in my ear.

  “Isabelle is already two and you still don’t have a Sophia yet.”

  “Do we really have to have this conversation right now, Em?”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I guess I was hoping that changing the subject would take your mind off things. I just don’t know what else to say to you.”

  “How about telling me you’ll be here at eleven to pick me up so I don’t have to ride to the cemetery alone.”

  Emily was quiet for a moment. “I can do that. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone without saying another w
ord. I was far too drained to even think about anything; despite the fact my thoughts couldn’t be quieted. Her words about my lack of family stung more than she meant them to. We’d promised each other years ago that we would name our daughters for each of our middle names. So far, Emily had held up her end of the bargain with having Isabelle, my name sake. But she was right. I was already two years behind her and still had no daughter of my own to name after my best friend, Emily Sophia Bradford—yet.

  

  I stood on the fake grass carpet that surrounded the grave upon which my mother’s simple casket rested. Clutching my mother’s black rosary to my chest, I could feel my heart pounding. It rang in my ears, drowning out the words spoken by the priest. “As we lay to rest Lucinda Blackwell-Mayfield…” My mother was raised Catholic by the nuns in the orphanage, and the rosary I desperately clung to had supposedly belonged to her own mother. It was the only thing she had been endowed with from the teen who’d unwillingly surrendered her life giving birth to her.

  Just how the rosary had followed her to the orphanage would probably always be a mystery to me, for she never really wanted to talk about it much, but she clung to that rosary until she let out her last breath. The only thing I knew for sure, was when she left the cold halls of the Wellington orphanage at the age of eighteen, the rosary was given to her by the nuns, who’d explained it had been left with a note stating that it had belonged to her mother.

  My mother admitted there were rumors that circulated the halls of the orphanage claiming that it had been the dying Widow Karington who’d left my mother on the steps of the orphanage that cold October morning in 1953 with a very large sum of money and a secret note. My mother always made light of the rumors, especially the one that claimed she herself had been named after the Widow Karington, whose maiden name had been Blackwell; first name, Lucinda. My mother rejected the name Lucinda because of this, and had always insisted on being called Lucy. She always joked that she didn’t even have a proper last name until she married my father, Grayson Mayfield, III, but we both knew how that one turned out.

  I clutched Emily’s hand as the casket was lowered into the tomb that would become my mother’s final resting place. I’d chosen a spot near a tree, but not too near as to block the sun from shining down on her grave. My mother loved the feel of the sun on her face and the sound of birds chirping, so this was the perfect spot, if there was such a thing. Birds chirped from the nearby tree and I hoped my mother could somehow hear them and approve of the spot I’d chosen for her. As for me, the sun felt as if it shone black, so as not to contrast with my mood. I turned my head and allowed tears to fall unchecked as the casket lowered out of sight. I let go of Emily’s hand and began to walk toward the parking lot, my heart threatening to pound its way from my ribcage.

  As I approached the curb, a man in a dark grey suit walked toward me, his crisp blue eyes reflecting bits of the clouds. His sandy brown hair thick with gel moved only slightly in the breeze, but his focus on me as we neared each other almost made me forget why I was at the cemetery. He stopped me before I passed him. “Excuse me Miss, are you Claire Mayfield?”

  I mindlessly nodded my head, and pulled my unruly hair behind my ear as he pushed a business card into my hand. I glanced down at the card that boasted the name of a large, local law firm.

  He managed a half smile; his dimples momentarily mesmerizing me.

  “I apologize for coming here, but I’ve been trying to track you down for a week. I read of your mother’s funeral arrangements in the newspaper and knew this might be the only place I could find you. Forgive the intrusion, but I need to speak to you about your mother’s estate.”

  “My mother’s estate?” I looked up at him furiously, clutching my mother’s rosary in my fist and shook it at him. “This rosary is the only thing my mother left me, and you can tell the hospital they’re not getting their hands on it to pay her bill. I’ll find another way to cover her debt.”

  He backed up slightly, holding his hands up in mock defense. “I think you’ve misunderstood me, Miss Mayfield. I’d like to go over the details of your mother’s inheritance.”

  “My mother was an orphan, and orphans don’t get an inheritance. You must have the wrong Lucy Mayfield.”

  “Was your mother Lucinda Blackwell, born October 15th, 1953? If that is your mother, and she is the same Lucinda Blackwell that was raised in the Wellington Home for Children, then I will need to discuss some things with you.”

  I shook off the feelings of suspicion as the young lawyer forced a smile.

  “That is my mother. But she had no family. You must have the wrong Lucinda Blackwell. The nuns at the orphanage told her she had been left on the doorstep of the orphanage by a midwife who’d put to rest the unknown fifteen-year-old girl who’d given birth to her.”

  “There’s quite a bit more to the story than that, and I’d like the opportunity to explain it to you. Perhaps when you are feeling a little more up to conversation; you can call the number on the card and set up an appointment with the office. Please call within the next few days so I can discuss the details with you.”

  The young man turned, and was gone before I could process what had just happened.

  Emily was suddenly behind me, placing a consoling hand on my shoulder.

  “Who was that? He was kinda cute.”

  I handed her the card. “He said he wants to talk to me about my mother’s estate. “

  “What estate?”

  I let out a guffaw. “That’s exactly what I asked him, but he seems convinced my mother has some family inheritance. He wants me to call him in a few days so he can talk to me about it, but we both know there isn’t any point. When he realizes he has the wrong Lucy Blackwell, the situation will take care of itself.”

  “What if you’re wrong, Claire?”

  “Then it should stay dead and buried with my mother who will never know she had a family.”

  I crumbled to the curb of the long drive that led to the cemetery, tucking my head down hoping to hinder the strangled cry that had waited until now to let loose from my throat. I could feel Emily slouch against my small frame, pulling me close to console me as I continued to sob, not caring who heard me. She said nothing to me as she stroked my long, reddish-blonde hair.

  After some time, I lifted my head, unable to cry anymore. A storm rapidly approached behind us, and everyone had long since left the cemetery. They would all be waiting for us at Frank’s, but I wasn’t up to visiting with any of them. Even though they had been my mother’s friends and regular customers for as long as I could remember, they weren’t really family. And for some unknown reason, I suddenly felt unattached from all of them, despite the fact I’d grown up with them. My mother was the only family I had ever known. I had no idea where my father had been my entire life. When my mother became ill, I hoped for months on end that he would come to see her, and that he would want to see me, but when she took that final turn down the road that would lead to her death, I knew I would never see him.

  Emily managed to get me into the passenger seat of my car and drove me to Frank’s where her own husband and child had already gone. She got me out of the car and inside the diner before the storm unleashed its fury. As thunder cracked and lightning flashed, my mother’s friends consoled me one-by-one. I stood there, stunned, not really participating in any of the conversation. Just going through the motions in what seemed to be a slow-motion afternoon that dragged endlessly on.

  Finally, Emily put me back in my car and drove me the three blocks to the tiny house in which I’d been raised, where she tucked me into my bed and promised to return the following morning. Her husband blipped his horn, signaling her he had arrived to take her from me. I clung to her hand in desperation, but it slipped away as I gave in to the deep sleep that overcame me.

  

  On Monday, I woke earlier than usual, vaguely remembering Emily being with me for a short time the day before to check on me as promised. I’d slept for
more than thirty-six hours, despite the constant interruption from the nightmares, and felt somewhat clouded in memory of the time that had lapsed without my knowledge. I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to grasp the date as I stared at it with unbelieving eyes from the face of my cell phone. I tossed the phone on the other side of my bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, hoping it would help me focus. The days leading to my mother’s death had become a blur of events, including the unexpected visit from the lawyer at her funeral.

  I lifted the young lawyer’s card from my night stand to examine it. How it got there, I had no idea. Tempted to call him for reasons other than my mother’s so-called estate, I reached for my cell phone, but replaced the card on the night stand, changing my mind. Though I was feeling slightly crazy, I knew it would be inappropriate to ask him out, and I certainly wasn’t ready to talk to him about my mother. I wasn’t ready to hear that my mother’s life had all been a lie. Or that she hadn’t needed to struggle because she really had a family out there somewhere that somehow never found her before it was too late. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. Who was this lawyer kidding?

  My phone buzzed an alert that Emily was calling to check on me again. “I’m up.”

  “You don’t sound very up. How did you sleep?”

  “I couldn’t stop dreaming about Amelia.”

  “Don’t try too hard, Claire. In a few days you’ll feel better. Maybe then the nightmares will stop.”

  “I hope you’re right. Maybe I’ll get dressed and sit in the park for a while. Some sunshine might just be the thing I need.”

  A moment of silence ensued from the other end of the line. “Would you like me and Isabelle to go along to keep you company?”

  “Yes. And bring some bread so we can feed the pigeons.”

  “Are you kidding Claire? We’re not ninety years old.”