Margaret Crenshaw and her obnoxious son Fred do their best to keep things uncomfortable when they visit with old friends. For Buck, still in shock over his brutal treatment of a West Point cadet, the visit goes from bad to worse.
To the great relief of Graham’s mother and Margaret, Graham gathered up his children and left for home the next morning. They were expected for the traditional holiday dinner at the Weldon home. The Crenshaws in their enormous garnet sleds pulled up the drive at Tenafly Road to be met by a few chairs–badly burnt and smoldering–and a sooty John Weldon limping up to greet them.
“Holy Jerusalem, Weldon! What’s happened? Is everyone all right?” Graham asked, climbing down from his seat.
“A fire. S-Sarah s-set the place in flames,” John laughed in his defeated way.
“Graham, dear. . .” Margaret said with her hand held out, waiting to be helped from the sled.
Graham took Margaret’s hand and set her beside him.
“Mr. Weldon, it seems hardly the time for laughter. When will you get some hired help to mind Sarah? Oh, I know Katherine wouldn’t like to spend your small income, but truly,” Margaret said, “Sarah will have you all dead and buried by summer. What a shame she’s so gone off in the head.”
“It wasn’t really—well, it was an honest mistake,” John replied.
“Mr. Weldon, I’m sure that Sarah’s as honest as an acorn when her mind is working, but please,” Margaret huffed.
Nathaniel, the Crenshaw ten-year-old, jumped down to survey the damage.
“Nathan,” Margaret scolded, “get back in your seat this instant. We’re leaving.”
“Oh balls! But Mama . . .”
“No, for goodness sake!” Margaret cried. “Graham do you hear his language? And what will we eat here with the kitchen charred to bits?” Margaret asked Nathan, but her son hardly listened.
Lucy, the Weldon’s adopted niece, wearing thick spectacles and a grin, waved and called to Nathan. “We’ve got gallons of cider and pies like you’ve never seen.” She grabbed the boy and ran to the porch.
Fred stayed perched at the helm of the second sleigh. “Well, if this ain’t rotten luck, Weldon.”
“Mr. Weldon to you, young man,” Graham said. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Fraid not,” Weldon replied, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Margaret huffed again as Katherine strode up with a smudge on her nose. “Come along, Graham. I’m sure the Weldons are in no mood for company now. It’s grum here, right, Katie?”
Katherine looked to John.
“Well, my wife would feel more cheerful if you stayed. Why let a little kitchen fire ruin supper?”
“Supper usually includes cooked foods, dishes, that sort of thing,” Margaret said. “Besides my children suffer in the smoke.”
“Since when, Margaret?” Graham asked and turned to John and Katherine. “We’ve brought nice wine from my mother, and Lucy says your pies are in eating shape. You know that’s why I came. Of course we’ll stay. The boys will help get things in order for you.”
Fred moaned. “But Father, I’m on holiday and we’ve been from Hell to breakfast this morning.”
“And our poor, poor Buck is an invalid this year. Do you still keep Willy’s wheelie-chair thing around?” Margaret asked.
Buck slammed his hand against the side of the sleigh to make his mother stop—uselessly.
Katherine stepped over to him. “Buck looks very unwell.”
“Oh, don’t worry—those cuts will heal and he’ll be as good looking as his brother again. I know he’s gruesome,” Margaret said. “It wouldn’t be right to send him home on his own though.”
Katherine went red. “Of course you wouldn’t, Margaret! I wasn’t speaking of his wounds, only that the poor thing looks green. I don’t discriminate based on looks.”
“Obviously not—look what you married, Katie, and there’s no hope of improvement there, ha-ha,” Margaret quipped.
Thankful, with the youngest child in her arms, jumped from the sleigh.
“Watch the child! Watch the child!” Margaret screamed.
Thankful laughed, handed the happy baby to Margaret and gave Katherine a hug. “Any word from Willy yet, ma’am?”
“Yes, my son sent us lovely gifts.”
Lucy joined them. “Oh, but Willy forgot all about Uncle John.”
“But Lucy, there must have been a mistake,” Thankful said, turning to Katherine.
Katherine said nothing as Weldon walked over and kissed her.
Thankful pulled her bag from the sleigh. “Oh, dash, I almost forgot. I’ve something for Mr. Weldon. It’s from England—a book of flowers, garden things and such. I thought you might like it, sir.”
John glanced at Katherine with a charmed grin. “Miss Thankful, that was thoughtful.”
“Why are you giving Grandmother Martha’s book away when you just got it, Thankful? How rude. She’d be hurt,” Margaret said.
“Grandmother was getting rid of it. . .” Thankful replied, pushing it into Weldon’s hands.
“It’s the thought, Thankful,” Weldon said. “Here you go. I won’t take it, but it’s the thought. I appreciate it.”
Meg, Thankful’s twin yawned and stood beside her mother. Finally Buck made his way to the ground, pulling his hat lower.
“Well, I do hope we can be kept warm. The baby is just over being sick,” Margaret said. “Katherine, I’m so happy that all of you are safe, though. We love you very much.”
Katherine collected herself. “The parlor is fine. I haven’t the heart to look for damage in the dining room—we had it nicely done up.”
The men took the horses to the barn.
“My gosh, I remember this place when old man McCullough used to keep it fine with the best horses in the county—aside from ours. Look at that poor wretch you have now,” Fred said. “Whatever happened to your last Morgan?”
“As you know already, Fred, I sold the horse for my son’s trip west and I’d do it again. Seems Willy’s doing really well with his paints and all.”
“So he’s painting fences out west?” Fred asked.
“F-for m-magazines,” Weldon replied.
“That’s nice about the horse,” Buck whispered.
“What are you saying, Buck?” Graham asked.
“It’s nice that Mr. Weldon did that for his son.”
They stared at him.
Buck took up a grooming brush and ran it a few times over the horse, but soon tired and sat on a hay bale, close to napping.
Weldon said to Graham, “I’m surprised you let him out.”
“Oh, Buck was adamant. Wanted to come. I don’t know why, but well, I’m inclined to give him what he wants after coming so close to losing him. He’s still in for some big trouble yet at school.”
Weldon was just putting out the final lantern when Lucy arrived.
“Uncle John,” she whispered as she came up beside him with big eyes.
Weldon gave the willowy girl his undivided and adoring attention.
Lucy pulled a tiny kitten from her coat.
Weldon laughed.
“Please, uncle, please let me keep it. It’s forlorn.”
“Lulu, but how many orphans can we keep?” Weldon caught himself and kissed Lucy’s pale forehead. “Go on, then, but what will you name it?”
“Willy,” she replied. “He’s handsome like Willy.”
Fred guffawed. Lucy walked out whistling but not before showing Doctor Crenshaw her new little pet.
Fred laughed and whispered to his father, “She’ll be something to look at in a few years, won’t she?”
Graham glared at Fred. “Wake your brother. Come along now.”
Excerpted from WEARY OF RUNNING. Read more about Buck Crenshaw and his misadventures when you buy the book today!
“The second installment in The Tenafly Road Series definitely did not disappoint. With the introduction of new characters and the return of familiar ones, Weary of Running made for an exciting read. The protagonist, Thankful, is the real highlight of the novel. She consistently makes very poor decisions but in the end, you can understand why she has made every last one of them. The story ranges from love and romance to questions of faith and morality. It does all this without being preachy and explores many angles of different aspects of life. This is one of the best books I have read in a long time.” Amazon Review
“Buck Crenshaw is my favorite dysfunctional lovable character.”
PART ONE HERE
PART TWO HERE
PART THREE HERE
PART FOUR HERE
PART FIVE HERE
PART SIX HERE
PART SEVEN HERE
PART EIGHT HERE
PART NINE HERE
PART TEN HERE
PART ELEVEN HERE
PART TWELVE HERE
PART THIRTEEN HERE
PART FOURTEEN HERE
PART FIFTEEN HERE
PART SIXTEEN HERE
PART SEVENTEEN HERE
Tagged: 19th century, Buck Crenshaw fiction, christmas stress, dysfuctional family, family tension holidays, long read, Novel, photo trees, Weary of Running, West Point Military Academy
