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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781509217953 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Wild Rose Press |
| Publication date: | 12/06/2017 |
| Pages: | 358 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.74(d) |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Tejas, Province of Mexico, June 1830
Gunshots shattered the calm of an everyday river crossing.
"Ever'body, take cover," an old man yelled as he ran to crouch behind a barrel of molasses. "And welcome to Texas."
One bullet made a whistling sound and then a thud when it embedded itself in the wooden bow of a ferry boat. Feathered arrows zinged by. More shots pierced the air. Belle Strong covered her ears and screamed.
A massive hand grabbed her shoulder and shoved her face down onto the ferry's deck. The young woman tried to yell, but no sound came from her lips. She struggled and gasped for breath when a man pressed his huge boot squarely in the middle of her back and pinned her to the planks. She couldn't see the action around her but heard the shrill sound of gunshots whizzing above her head.
Other blasts close by provided evidence the men on the ferry continued to return fire. Sensing pain in the right side of her face, Belle realized her cheek rested on a big knot of a rough-sawn cedar plank. She tried to move.
"Lie still," a gruff voice commanded. "And for heaven's sake, don't scream again. Can't let those Indians know a white woman's on board."
Feeling a chill inch all the way up her backbone, Belle remembered the stories she had heard about Indians, savages who thought nothing of killing innocent people. After they murdered you, they would cut away your scalp, with hair left to dangle from the bloody skin, then whoop and dance around with it. She had listened to horrible stories where they grabbed tiny babies and threw them around to each other — and forced the mothers to watch.
No, Belle didn't have to be told a second time to be quiet. She lay as still as a morning dew. With thoughts of her own unborn child, she was glad she had conceived only three months ago and hoped today's rough treatment caused no damage. No one on the trip knew she was with child, or they might not have let her travel with them.
The acrid smell of gun smoke permeated the air and mingled with odors of cornmeal and coffee. A shot pierced the side of a barrel nearby and added the sweet smell of molasses to the mix. Wooden barrels of these treasured commodities lay just inches from Belle's head. In this position, she could see only the bottom one in the stack.
To hide her fear, Belle concentrated on the flour barrel nearest her. In her short lifespan, she had used a lot of that basic ingredient. Cooking was not only a necessity to her, it was an event. She loved to cook almost as much as she loved to quilt, especially cooking for a crowd in South Carolina where she helped prepare food for community events. Today, that seemed very long ago to the new bride and many miles away.
Muddy water splashed against the sides of the ferry while the activity on board intensified. Men changed positions to get a better shot or to reload their long rifles. Some of the fine spray reached Belle, providing a cool mist which reminded the young woman she was now on the final leg of her journey. This ferry crossed the last river, and she expected to meet Michael on the other shore. Catching her breath, Belle realized her husband should be waiting for her at the landing, exactly from where the Indians were firing.
"One more fear I have to contend with," she whispered, her voice weary, and forced herself to stare at the barrels while the shooting continued.
Belle snapped back to reality. It took her a few seconds to realize why. Silence. She couldn't remember silence ever sounding so wonderful.
"They must 'ave run out o' powder and arrows, Trader Jake," the old man said. "We couldn't 'ave skeered 'em off that easy."
"No, there's too many of them," the man called Trader Jake said while he reloaded his gun. "We better keep a sharp eye out in case they've got reinforcements on the way." He lifted his boot from the middle of Belle's back.
"You can get up now, ma'am." He reached down and offered his hand.
"How dare you shove me down like that! Who do you think you are?"
Jake recoiled and pulled back his hand. "I'm the man who saved your stinking hide."
"You!"
"Yeah. Me."
Belle rose and brushed splinters from her now-soiled dress and repositioned her hat. Deep green velvet and dyed to match her tailored dress, the hat sported an emerald-green feather sticking out of its crown. So angry with this frontiersman, she hoped her green eyes flashed red. Straightening to her full height, then leaning back to look the big man in the face, she saw eyes so dark gray they resembled chunks of coal in his deeply-tanned face. He smiled.
Belle wanted to return his smile, but fear and anger were her stronger emotions now. His massive frame blocked the shore where Michael might be, so Belle asked, "Can anyone see if my husband is waiting for the ferry to dock?"
"We can't see anyone over there, ma'am," one of the men said.
"And we won't see anyone until morning," Jake said. "We're not going to unload my cargo and your belongings in the dark, so we'll all spend the night together on this boat. It's safer out here in the middle of the river until we have daylight behind us to check out that bluff."
Belle shivered. I'm cold, but I sure don't want them to think I'm afraid. She doubled up her fist and punched Trader Jake in the stomach as hard as she could.
"Umph," Jake mumbled in surprise.
"That's for shoving me," Belle shouted, "and as for stinking, you should talk. You reek." The smell of bear grease and whiskey was almost more than she could stand. Though he had finely-chiseled features in his rugged face, he was sorely in need of a bath and a haircut.
That silence surfaced again as the men stood by with their mouths open. They looked like they had never seen a woman stand up to Trader Jake, and he looked like he could be a mean cuss when he got riled. No one should cross a man who stands six-and-a-half feet tall, but Belle was furious. The men held their breaths until Jake burst out laughing.
"Well, looks like we got a little spitfire here, eh, boys," he said.
The men joined in with big guffaws, their laughter sounding like relief. Belle wondered if they would have come to her aid if Trader Jake had hit her back. He swaggered off to the other end of the ferry, his huge frame causing the craft to lean a little.
Belle watched him go, the long fringe on his buckskin jacket and down the sides of his breeches swaying as he walked, his broad back highlighted by the setting sun. He wore no hat, and his sun-bleached hair reached his shoulders.
"Hope an Indian gets that scalp someday." She touched her sore cheek. Opening her reticule, Belle pulled out a mirror and saw dirty smudges on her face and splinters in her cheek. Seething with anger, she spent the last moments of daylight gingerly removing the splinters.
"I just know I'm going to have a horrid bruise by morning. And it's his fault," she whispered.
When daylight came, the sun spilled over treetops on the east river bank, revealing deep-golden rays to lift the spirits of any who viewed it. And there was that silence again — time for the passengers to leave the safety of the river. Watching the bank, Belle hoped to spot Michael, but she detected no movement at all.
The captain guided his ferry to the small landing with great caution. No one knew who or what may be lurking behind that stand of trees on the bank. All the men onboard had kept their rifles loaded and at the ready since yesterday evening.
"Yo." A loud voice boomed from the bank, startling Belle when it broke the silence. "Who goes?"
"Parker's Ferry," Jake shouted back.
"Come on in," a man yelled, emerging from behind a huge, white pine.
"Seen any Indians?" Jake asked.
"No, not since last week when I was down here. Looks like they've been near this landing, though."
Parker's Ferry swayed, bumping against the tall poles supporting the landing, the planks on the walkway glossy from many boots striding on it.
Trader Jake swung easily onto the landing and assisted Belle as she disembarked.
"Yeah, we had a bout with them last evening," he said. "Glad to know they've moved downriver a bit during the night, Owens." The trader leaned down to contemplate moccasin tracks in the red dirt.
"What tribe are they, Jake?"
"Looks like Tonkawa to me."
"No, surely can't be," Owens said. "What do you think they're doing this far north?"
"Beats me. Must have made a vengeance raid or something up this way. It certainly is out of their hunting and fishing range. Just hope they continue back down south now." Pointing to a magnificent stallion, Jake smiled and said, "I see you brought my favorite."
Belle admired the red roan, although she had never seen one so tall. "Maybe what they say is true," she murmured. "Things really do grow big in Texas."
Two other horses stood hobbled nearby.
As men unloaded her trunks from the ferry and placed them on the hard-packed earth, Belle searched for sign of her new husband. Two weeks after their wedding, Michael had promptly left her behind in South Carolina while he returned to this unsettled land. He sent for her when he received title to his property and built a temporary home for them.
Now, she waited on him. Releasing an exasperated sigh, she found a large rock to sit on. Rose-red in color, its top had worn smooth.
Probably from other weary travelers who had to wait. I wonder how many people came before me. She shuddered, considering how few might have lived to tell about it.
Michael had said there was law and order, and they would be safe. She had not fully believed him then and worried whether he was safe right now. Hoping he hadn't run into the Indians, the young bride felt cold shivers run up her spine and wondered what could have befallen her new husband.
The ferry boat untied and shoved off. Belle watched her last mobile link to civilization disappear. She trembled at the finality and willed herself to think of something else to quell tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Traveling on this deep-red river that some called Blood River, Belle noted the tremendous height of the banks on each side. "Surely somewhere along this river, those sandstone bluffs must diminish to where a horse or a team and wagon could get down to the sandy banks to swim across," she murmured, wondering who had carved out this opening for the ferry landing.
Three fellow passengers, all quite burly, struck out southwest on foot. They carried packs on their backs and weapons in their hands, ready for immediate use. One of them shouldered the rejected molasses barrel. In moments, they disappeared into a thicket.
After the tariff collector finalized his duties, he walked over to Belle. She watched him, striding toward her with an easy gait, his legs long and muscular, straining against the leather breeches that fit him like a second skin. He removed his hat when he approached her but offered no smile.
"Mrs. Strong, is it?" He spoke in a smooth, baritone voice.
"Yes, I am Mrs. Michael Strong." The name still sounds strange upon my lips.
"Parker told me your name. I'm Owens, myself. Is someone coming to meet you here?"
"Yes. My husband sent word he would be here to meet me."
Owens frowned.
"I'm frightened he may have had an encounter with those Indians," Belle said, "and, oh, where are my manners? I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Owens."
"Yes, ma'am. Well, I can't leave you here out in the open. There's a little settlement called Horseshoe Bend not far from here. We can take you with us, and maybe he can find you there. At least, you'll be safe."
"I really shouldn't go. What if my husband comes here and can't find me?"
"You don't have a say," Jake answered, his voice gruff. "Get ready to move before the Indians come back. That's all we need, with a woman along. Come on, Owens. Let's see how much we can load on your pack animal."
Belle watched as the two men worked with her trunks. She found Owens to be more of a gentleman than Trader Jake, but she sensed hostility from both of them, maybe because women weren't supposed to come to Texas.
After much swearing, they were ready to proceed, the pack horse piled with barrels of flour and coffee and one of her trunks perched high on top. The other trunk was strapped to the back of a big, gray gelding that now also supported Owens' large frame.
Jake bowed to Belle, offered his arm in mock chivalry, and escorted her to his waiting horse.
She winced, realizing no alternative to sharing a steed with the man, and wanted to lash out at Michael. If only he had been here to meet me, I wouldn't be in this predicament.
After Jake swung into the saddle, he reached down for her hand and pulled her up to ride behind him.
Wishing she had worn more appropriate clothing for horseback, and more specifically for riding astride, she smoothed her skirt as best she could and allowed the big roan to carry them. The party of three moved in a westerly direction. No one spoke as they watched the day unfold before them.
The morning sun felt warm and inviting on Belle's back as they rode in silence. A wooded area along the river's bank stretched far inland, and when they came to a clearing, she could feel Jake press the stallion's belly with his knees. The big roan stopped on command.
Jake scanned the open area for a few moments, concentrating on the woods beyond, apparently looking for any sign of movement. He must have felt confident because they entered the clearing.
The gentle squeak of leather upon leather as the saddles moved against the two men's buckskin breeches made a comforting sound, almost to the point of lulling one to sleep with the rocking motion of the animal's easy gait. The horses breathed heavily from time to time while ropes creaked against the trunks. Mockingbirds chattered some distance away.
The trio reached a second wooded area, and Belle could see the river again. "Are we going in a circle?" she asked.
"No," Jake said, his voice quiet yet abrupt.
Furious that he wouldn't answer her question in more detail, Belle decided to ask the man named Owens. "Mr. O ..." was all she could say before Jake swiveled around and clamped his hand over her mouth. He covered her nose too, shutting off sound and breathing.
She fought his hand until she saw bright colors move to the left of her vision. Indians! Real Indians in full regalia.
Jake relaxed his grip when Belle stiffened and held her breath. She stopped struggling and viewed the procession in awe. The mounted Indians wore beautiful costumes, with gorgeous feathers of all colors and sizes on their heads and ankles, even on their horses, as varied and colorful as the Indians themselves. Paints, roans, bays, buckskins, palominos, and a few breeds and colors Belle had never seen before paraded single file not far from her.
The men wore dark buckskin breeches that barely covered their most private parts. In place of shirts, they wore breastplates that rattled.
Are those made of bones and animal teeth?
The women wore light doeskin dresses, a cream color like fresh-churned butter, with brilliant strips interwoven in the dresses and moccasins.
Are they beaded?
From this distance, she saw women petite and pretty and men long and lean. Braves were masculine, yet elegant, their bronzed bodies and black braids shining in the sunlight. Women and men rode with poise and presence.
How could these people be regarded as savages?
Jake removed his hand from Belle's mouth and eased out of the saddle with a lithe grace that belied his size. He held the horses' muzzles so they wouldn't whinny to the Indian ponies. Owens did the same with his gray. Silence was wonderful, but at that moment, it meant the difference between life and death.
When the procession rounded the bend of the river to the north, Belle, Jake, and Owens moved again, this time to the south.
"Comanche," Jake whispered, "but not from around here."
When the trio neared the settlement, the men talked in normal tones again.
"Mrs. Strong," Owens said, "to answer your question, the river takes a lot of bends and turns along here, so you will see wooded areas intermingled with prairie land. It may look like you're going in circles, but you're not. When we get into Horseshoe Bend just ahead, I'll show you a roughed-out map of the territory, if you like, and you'll be able to put it into perspective."
He cleared his throat before continuing and looked straight ahead. "I sure hope your husband is waiting for you. A fine lady like yourself shouldn't be left alone out here. We don't have many womenfolk in this raw land yet."
Later, Jake rose from the saddle, his stirrups creaking as they held his full weight. He moved his right arm in a wide arc over his head to signal someone.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "River Bend"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Barbara A. Shepherd.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
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