by Barbara Goss
Forbidden Legacy
Barbara Goss
0This book was previously published by Fleming Revell (1989) under the author name Barbara Masci. Printed in 1995 by Barbara Masci Goss by Baker Books. This is the book’s first time as e-Book.
Scripture quotations in this volume are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2015 Barbara Goss
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
~ C H A P T E R I ~
The stagecoach bumped over the deeply rutted trail. When it didn't bump, it lurched. As it swung wildly to the right, a fat, grubby hand fell on Sarah Clarke’s knee. Discreetly, she edged her legs as far from the man on that side as space allowed, but in so doing succeeded—much to her chagrin—in raising the eyebrows of the small, distinguished young gentleman on her left. Immediately she swung her legs straight, relieved the knees she now brushed belonged to her great-aunt, seated opposite.
Aunt Emily affectionately patted Sarah's bruised and travel-worn limbs. "Are you comfortable now, my dear?" she asked solicitously.
Sarah smiled. "Yes, and thank you. But what about you? You're three times my age, and you haven't complained yet. Surely you are as bruised and sore as I."
Emily winked. "I'm seasoned."
"Seasoned?"
"Do you think I always lived the life of luxury with you and your mother, in Chicago? Remember, only the past five years have I lived like a queen with you two. It was wonderful to be invited, but I prefer to do for myself. Always did. I got my education deep in the hills of Pennsylvania."
"I know. Mother told me so many times how poor you and she were then. I'm glad you aren't living like that now." Sarah patted her aunt's knees.
"We would have been lucky to be poor; we were destitute before your mother’s birth. By good fortune, the next generation was poor. Indians killed our father much like yours was killed, but unlike your father’s death, we witnessed the whole thing and hid to save ourselves. After that, we didn't know where our next meal would come from."
"How terrible," Sarah sympathized.
"Well, Dad's death was, but the life was wonderful— wouldn't trade it for anything."
"You wouldn't?"
"No, it seasoned me. We worked, and we worked hard, but we learned plenty. Struggling drew our family closer." Aunt Emily sighed. "No, you can have your maids and nannies. I always say, 'If you want a job done right, you do it yourself.' "
"I'm glad you offered to come to Texas with me. Mother would never have let me come alone," Sarah said.
"My pleasure. I was glad to get away from that cold, rich mansion and those servants who even try to blow your nose for you!" Emily chuckled at Sarah's grimace as the other passengers, who pretended not to listen, tried hard not to smile.
An old man next to Emily Ruggles began telling her about his hard life, and the two began an animated conversation.
Leaning back, with eyes closed, Sarah tried to relax amid the coach's crushing jolts and sudden heaves. Breathing deeply to ease her tensions, she recognized the scent of leather and the mixed odors of horses and sweating human bodies. She marveled at her ability to smell at all, with so much dust in her nose.
The constant rocking and creaking of the carriage began to lull her tired body. She'd almost relaxed enough to fall asleep when a shrill cry from the top of the stagecoach jarred her to attention.
"Indians!"
Indians! Her eyes flew open and darted about fearfully. Not only had her father been killed by them, the ladies at the Topeka stop had related lurid tales of their savagery.
Sarah's heart fluttered as the six carriage occupants braced themselves. The stagecoach raced forward, despite the condition of the trail. The driver could be heard coaxing the horses into an even faster run.
"Aunt Emily, Indians!" Sarah cried, unable to keep still a moment longer.
"Don't worry, dear." Aunt Emily patted her great-niece's knee. "The driver and his friend will know what to do."
Wide-eyed, Sarah looked at the other passengers. The quiet, dignified gentleman on her left removed his spectacles and nervously wiped the dust from them with his handkerchief. Beside Aunt Emily sat a heavy-set teenage boy whose eyes attentively sought his grandfather, seated on Emily's other side. The old man choked the neck of his cane with wrinkled, white hands; until Sarah thought his protruding blue veins would burst.
On Sarah's right, the obese man with the wandering hand had decided to brave a peek out the window.
With his head back inside the coach he reported, "There's only a handful chasing us."
"How many does it t-take to be dangerous?" asked the boy, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
The man shrugged. "With four armed men, we should be able to handle 'em. They ain't even wearing war paint," he complained, as if he'd been cheated. "Ya do gotta gun, don’t ya?" he asked the quiet man on Sarah's left.
Before the gentleman could answer, a loud crack rendered them all speechless. Crazily, the coach skidded, accompanied by a deafening scraping noise. Then Sarah realized the screeching and sliding had stopped—but so had the coach— and with Indians chasing them!
The driver and the express manager leaped down from the driver's perch and examined the stage's underbody.
"Everybody out. We've broken an axle," shouted one.
"Don't worry, we have the Indians covered," hollered the other, aiming his double-barreled shotgun toward the thundering cloud of dust rapidly approaching them.
Praying her legs would accommodate her, Sarah climbed down from the coach with the others.
Through the dust Sarah watched the Indians rein in their small, scraggy horses. Standing near the coach, her heart raced frantically. She awaited her doom.
The small, quiet gentleman who'd ridden beside her since Topeka leaned toward her and whispered, "These Indians don't appear to be attacking, miss. They have no guns or war paint." Seeing her colorless face, he asked, "Are you all right?"
Sarah found her voice weak. "Yes, thank you."
The obese man who'd also ridden beside Sarah joined the two men with guns, crouched at the rear of the stage. This reassured Sarah somewhat, for now a rifle, a shotgun, and a six-shooter were all aimed at the eight ragged, dust-encrusted Indians.
The dark, leather-faced men with long, stringy hair dismounted and approached the passengers. On the ground they appeared shorter yet no less formidable, with high cheekbones and long, thin, hollow faces.
The tallest, apparently the leader, approached Sarah. Stretching out his hand, he swiped at her head. She shrank back, unwilling to let the savage touch her.
The leader called laughingly to the others, "Corn-topped lady fear for scalp! She 'fraid!"
While the Indians laughed, the gentleman beside her whispered, "Let him touch your hair. That's all he wants. Indians
don't often see blond hair; he is amused by it."
Inwardly Sarah cringed as the redskin roughly caressed her hair. Deliberately putting on a brave face, she looked up at him defiantly, as if daring him to harm her.
With a taunting smile and squinting black eyes, he measured her before clumsily lunging for her throat. Sarah held her bold look, trusting he wouldn't discover her fear by the rapid throbbing of her neck pulse. He fingered the cameo pin at her throat.
Abruptly the man turned back to join his friends, who similarly inspected the passengers' possessions, including the large purple plume on Aunt Emily’s hat.
Aunt Emily studied the Indian intently before plucking the feather from the hat and presenting it to the curious man, who'd been stroking it. Pleased, he said, "Thank you. Nice lady. You have big heart. Not forget."
To Sarah's surprise, Emily patted the Indian's arm and said sweetly, "Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee."
The Indians, prodded by the gunmen and having satisfied their curiosity, mounted their horses and sped away with hoots of laughter—and a purple feather.
Dining at the Dodge House hotel with the other passengers, Sarah found the quiet young man who'd befriended her earlier a talkative, pleasant dinner companion.
"You seem to know much about Indians, eh ...,
Mr…."
"Simon Letchworth, ladies, at your service." He rose and
bowed politely.
"We're glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Letchworth.
I'm Sarah Clarke, and this is my great-aunt, Emily Ruggles."
"How do you do," he bowed again and reseated himself briskly. "In response to your statement, Miss Clarke, I'm well acquainted with the Kansas Indians. I’ve spent most of my life in Topeka. Those Indians—probably Wichita or Pawnee—remind me of the Kaws, who are quite harmless, but often a nuisance. They have a rude habit of walking into the settlers' homes without as much as a knock on the door, because of their inquisitiveness. They beg food and clothing." He shook his head; "It's a shame the way they grovel."
"Are there any dangerous Indians nearby?" Sarah widened her eyes inquisitively.
"Yes, indeed. The Comanche and Kiowa aren't far."
Sipping her tea calmly, Aunt Emily asked, "Planning to stay in Dodge City, Mr. Letchworth?"
"Yes, I came to accept a position at the bank."
"You've been here before?" Sarah asked eagerly.
"Yes, quite a few times."
"What is Dodge City like?" Sarah was curious; she had no idea how long they would have to stay.
"It's quiet tonight, but it can change suddenly. Now that the railroad's here, it's a booming cattle town, and when the cattlemen come in, it becomes a dangerous place. It's not a town for unchaperoned ladies to stay in long." Simon leaned over and added in a whisper, "Indeed, even I never venture out when the cattlemen come to town!"
"What do they do?" Sarah tilted her blond head and looked at him with questioning eyes.
"Drink, gamble, and shoot each other, mostly," he answered casually, breaking open a biscuit and smearing it with butter. "How long do you ladies plan on staying?"
"Just until we're contacted. You see," Sarah explained, "I've inherited a ranch in Texas. My grandfather's lawyer plans to meet us here in Dodge City, and then escort us to the ranch."
"For your sakes, I hope he arrives soon," Simon warned. "Be sure to check with the desk clerk and post office tomorrow. A message may be waiting for you. We were, after all, delayed several times in our travels."
"I'll do that, sir. Will we be seeing you again?" Sarah asked as Mr. Letchworth stood to depart.
“I usually eat here when in town, so you'll probably see quite a bit of me. Take care, ladies. I would advise you to go directly to your room and lock the door. Good night.” He bowed courteously.
Lying upon her bed that night, Sarah recalled Simon’s warning. She was not one to become alarmed easily, but the street noises increasingly made her restless. She shuddered at the sounds of laughter, cursing, and fighting, all amid bawdy dance-hall music from several saloons. Now and then she heard female laughter and wondered what woman dared be with those uncouth men.
Gunshots! The room vibrated with their peals. Sarah gripped the side of her bed, and then loudly exhaled the breath she'd been holding and relaxed as loud laughter rang out from the street below. Oh, what a horrid town! I hope we won't stay long. Judging from her snores, Emily Ruggles wouldn't lose any sleep no matter where she bedded. Sarah, however, slept lightly.
Quiet came with early morning, and Sarah felt peaceful again, but sleep would not come. Finally she decided to rise and check with the desk to see if the lawyer had left word for her. There was no message there, so she breakfasted with Aunt Emily before venturing to the post office.
Locking Aunt Emily securely in their room, she headed for the front door of the hotel. Sarah stood on the wooden walk, gazing up and down the dusty street, reading the primitive signs- Long Branch Saloon, Gunsmith and Saddle Shop, Saratoga Saloon, Bank, and finally the words Post Office, written above the door of People's General Store. She hurried in that direction.
The tired-looking storekeeper handed her a letter he said had arrived days ago. She hurried back to the hotel, clutching the envelope excitedly.
Entering the hotel room, Sarah smiled. Aunt Emily calmly sewed, looking as comfortable as if she were in their Chicago sitting room.
"It's here!" Sarah said, waving the envelope. "It's from the lawyer, Samuel Lewis, and it7s been here, waiting for us."
"Sit down on the bed and read it to me," Aunt Emily responded without looking up.
Opening the envelope, Sarah read aloud.
April 1876
Dear Miss Clarke:
I hope your trip was not too unpleasant.
I'm presently in Fort Worth on an important matter and cannot meet you in Dodge City as planned. However, a trustworthy young man, with whom I'm well acquainted, is traveling to Dodge City on a cattle drive around the time of your arrival. He has most generously agreed to escort you and your aunt safely to Arrow C Ranch. I will contact you when I am able. Everything is in readiness for your arrival.
Your escort, a man named Storm, will call at the hotel when he arrives. Should a problem arise, contact me at the address on the envelope.
Respectfully,
Samuel E. Lewis, Esquire
Sarah handed the letter to Aunt Emily and sighed, "A Mr. Storm is to escort us. I hope he gets here soon. This town unnerves me."
"It seems pleasant enough," Emily commented, skimming the lawyer's letter before putting it aside to continue with her sewing.
"Didn't you hear all the noise last night?"
"Why, no, I slept soundly," Emily replied, biting off her sewing thread.
"I'm glad." Sarah smiled. "What are you mending?"
"Oh, I'm just reinforcing a few seams."
"You needn't bother with that now."
"A stitch in time saves—"
"Nine! I know!" Sarah laughed and embraced the petite, gray-haired woman. How desolate she would feel if Aunt Emily were not with her! Her own mother, currently visiting the spas in Europe, would never have accompanied her to this wild, unpredictable land.
Fondly caressing her aunt's small, blue-veined hand, she sighed. "I wish mother were more like you."
"Your mother is a fine woman."
"Yes, but not spunky and adventurous, like you."
"She never was happy living the hard life. A dreamer, she was. Always imagining that prince who'd whisk her away to his castle."
"And didn't her dream come true when Dad struck gold?"
"Yes, and she had prodded him to go. I remember it like yesterday. It was 1849, and everyone was excited about the gold rush. He was gone three years and came back rich. That was when they moved to Chicago and he went into the newspaper business."
"I never understood why he went back," Sarah said. "They had enough money. Why did he want more gold? He'd be aliv
e today had he stayed home."
"Greed. I don't mean to criticize your folks, but it happens to people sometimes when they have so much. They want more. They began a life-style that was expensive, with friends who had even more than they did."
"Mother never liked to talk about my father's death. Do you know what happened?"
"Not exactly. Just that he and his friends traveled too close to Indians and were attacked. That type of thing happened more often in those days than now."
Sarah had always thought Texas a horrid place. As rich as her father, Thomas Clarke, had become, he had never gone back to his home in Texas and never visited his father, Wilson Clarke. Wilson Clarke had outlived his son by ten years. Sarah wondered how Wilson had taken the news of his only son's death. Had he longed to see him after so many years? She knew they corresponded by mail infrequently, but she had never been invited to read the letters.
Now, here she was, traveling to her own ranch, a legacy from a grandfather she had never met.
Sarah bent to kiss the gently creased but still pretty face of her great-aunt. Traveling to a strange and possibly unwelcome destination, twenty-two-year-old Sarah was often plagued by needling doubts and uncertain fears. Aunt Emily always managed to fortify and strengthen her.
They had recently read an article in the Chicago newspaper about the courageous and persevering Kansas immigrants who had settled and tamed that frontier. Aunt Emily had encouraged her to be like them, to survive, even prosper at running the ranch. Sarah knew the land was cleared and the ranch built. How difficult could it be?
So with Aunt Emily's support Sarah set her mind to overcoming her fears and succeeding as a Texas ranch owner.
Simon Letchworth joined them at dinner, talking incessantly about his new bank position. Unable to believe he'd once been so quiet, Sarah waited for an opportunity to tell their news-from Samuel Lewis. When she finally edged it into the conversation, his reply baffled her.
