by Lynn Donovan
Lantern of Hope
Lantern in the Window Series
Book 5
© Lynn Donovan 2018
Cover Copyright © 2018 JBGraphics
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Book Blurb
Lantern of Hope
Hope Ledbetter buried her heart when she buried her husband who had been sent home from the War in a pine box. How could she ever love again? She was one of a few women in Lantern, Texas who knew she was indeed a widow. She struggled to get through the days that slowly turned into months. Her children were her only reason to get out of bed and face the day. Her horse ranch, like her heart, was in shambles due to her endless grief.
Roland Malone came to Lantern as a veterinary doctor to look after the welfare of the animals being used in a competitive event. He soon realized the event was a ploy to bring eligible bachelors into a town full of war widows and single girls with no hope for marriage. The War had taken most every man from the small town and returned very few. The ranch widow caught his eye and his heart the first time he saw her, but wrongful charges that hung over his head prevented him from pursuing the love that burned in his chest.
How can Roland and Hope find their happy ever after together with so much turmoil ruling their lives? Can the Lantern of Hope enlighten a path for them to find their way to each other or will circumstances beyond their control keep them apart forever?
Dedication
To those four-legged friends who come into our lives for a short while and give us so much joy. As I write this story, my step-mom tells me that her sweet Bella has reached the end of her time on earth.
Rest in peace, Bella.
Appreciation
Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.
Mostly I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms -- Many, many years from now. :).
ONE
Lantern, Texas
1866
Hope Ledbetter sat at the vanity staring beyond her reflection in the large oval mirror. The silver-handled brush poised at mid-stroke through her long, strawberry blonde hair as if the act of giving her hair a high sheen forgotten. Her springer spaniel companion, Bella, lay just behind the bench on which she sat. How could she face all those people? Her bones ached. All she wanted was to crawl back under the covers and return to her dream world where Jude sat in the parlor with a lit pipe and the Lantern Gazette open before him. She hated the smell of that pipe, and yet, she’d give every horse on her ranch, every single possession she owned, to smell it now.
“It’s important to the town,” her cousin, Mayor Faith Burke, had insisted over a cup of tea in her parlor. “And your ranch, Hope. You have to be there. Important decisions have to be made and if you’re not there… we can’t do what we need to do to bring Lantern back to life.”
Hope’s eyes shot up to meet Faith’s. Fear pierced her heart like a dagger. Were they all dead? Like her Jude?
“Back to life? What are you saying? Faith, has something happened in town that I’m not aware of?” Tears clotted in her throat. “Has the War--“
“No. No, Hope, the War is over. The townspeople are fine. It’s just that so few of our men have come home. You know the problem. We women are doing our best to keep things going: Evelyn Graham and our cousin, Honor, are filling in for doctors Graham and Featherstone, I’m filling Clarence’s shoes as Mayor, Patience is our sole sheriff--“
“You think I don’t know none of this?” Tears stung Hope’s already irritated eyes. “Just cause I stay out here on my ranch don’t mean I don’t know--”
“Hope, please, I don’t propose to imply… Oh honey!” Faith leapt to her feet and wrapped her cousin in loving arms. Hope wept against Faith’s shoulder.
Jewell bounced into the room, snuggling her rag doll. “Momma crying?”
Hope rose from Faith’s shoulder, quickly wiping her eyes. “No, honey. Come here.”
She pulled her three-year-old onto her lap. “Momma and Cousin Faith were just-- these are happy tears sweet Jewell, because momma’s so happy to see cousin Faith.”
Sonya Garcia rushed into the room, a wisp of hair had escaped her neat bun and hung in her face. “I’m so sorry, Señora Hope. She insisted on seeing you.”
“It’s alright, Sonya.” Hope hugged her daughter and let her slip down to her feet. “Go with Sonya, baby. Momma’s gotta visit with Cousin Faith a little more.”
Jewell pouted, but walked to Sonya’s waiting arms. Hope forced a smile to let the young woman know she was not upset with her letting Jewell run in to her tea with Mrs. Burke. Jewell was a sweet and quiet little girl, but she could be a handful at the same time. Hope understood how she could slip away from the most attentive eyes. Sonya winked at Jewell and returned Hope’s smile, then lifted Jewell as she stood tall. She positioned the child on her hip and touched her nose, making Jewell giggle. “Let’s find Jaxon and read a book together.”
“Weed book! Weed book! Weed book!” Jewell chanted as Sonya walked from the parlor with her.
Faith and Hope watched them leave. Faith turned to her cousin. “I just mean that I have something very important to offer our town as a solution and it will involve this ranch as well.”
Hope’s attention remained on the empty doorway where her daughter and Sonya had exited. Faith reached out to touch Hope’s hand. She slowly lifted sad eyes to meet Faith’s.
“Cyrus and I have come up with something -- something beneficial for our town, the women, and, with your permission, I’d like to help you, too, by offering your ranch as the location for a big rodeo event…” Faith leaned toward Hope and peered into her watery eyes. “This could really help your ranch. I’m wanting to propose the event contestants board out here as well and… help set up the arena, or the corral, and such things. It’ll give your Nick some hands and… hopefully some of them will stick around to… court some of our… w-widows.”
Hope’s eyes rounded. That word, widow, sent a chill down her spine. “I just can’t make you any promises.”
Her lips vibrated with emotion. Such absolutes. She knew she was a widow. Faith probably was one, too, even though no one knew for sure. Probably, every woman in town whose husband had not returned was a widow. The soldier’s continued absence was a mystery without word of their demise or capture. But her Jude had died near Atlanta. She had received a letter from his commander. His body had been sent home and his final resting place was in the Ledbetter family plot next to the Brazos River.
She’d never worn the widow weeds, as called for by proper social standards, because she didn’t want to cause her children any more
remorse than they were naturally experiencing. Jaxon seemed to take his father’s death harder than his little sister. But he had spent more precious time with his father, although he was barely in britches when Jude left for the War. Jewell only knew her papa as a photograph on the mantle and suffered little pangs in the knowledge that he’d never be anything more than a memory and stories told over supper.
Hope hadn’t been able to present herself in public since Jude’s funeral. A large part of her heart died and was buried with Jude. The other portions of her love were divided between her two little ones. They needed her regardless of her shattered heart. She had to pull herself together for them. Thank God for Sonya.
With Sonya’s gracious help, Hope was able to occasionally take time to herself to grieve, especially at night when she was alone in their marriage bed. She had no idea how much her children understood about their papa’s absence, or why she would suddenly break out in tears, but with Sonya’s vigilance, Hope knew they all would be alright… someday.
For now, Hope felt like she was but a shell of a woman who wandered aimlessly through the days. It was Sonya who kept her and the children on track. Her faith in God made her strong and it reflected in every kindness she bestowed on Hope. Sonya’s grandfather was the sole reason Hope still had an operating quarter horse ranch.
Nick Garcia, a Mexican born widower, had worked for the ranch longer than Hope could remember. He’d worked for her father, then her and Jude. His wife was buried in the Ledbetter family plot just like her folks… and Jude. She was lonely, miserably lonely, but the thought of going out, being around people, talking to anyone other than her children, or Sonya, or Nick, put a red-hot coal of utter terror in the pit of her stomach.
Now Faith wanted her to come to town and attend some meeting to back Faith’s plan to revive Lantern, and agree to let her ranch be used, to be infiltrated by strangers, cowboys all over the place, riding her horses, building up an event-worthy corral, living in the old bunkhouses.
Hope blinked. The thought of why she sat at the vanity brushing her hair, preparing to… leave the ranch, sickened her. She lifted her eyes to the nightmarish reflection of herself in the mirror. Dark circles underlined sad eyes that used to be bright and full of life, her pallid cheeks and lips were once pink with joy and excitement. Where had that girl gone? She was only twenty-three. She shouldn’t look this old, worn down. Losing her parents took its toll on her, and then the War took her Jude. It was almost too much to bear. She sighed so heavily it hurt deep in her lungs. If it weren’t for Sonya and Nick, she’d have lain down in her marriage bed and… just died.
But for her children.
Sonya made sure Hope and the children ate. Nick came in every morning to tell Hope what was going on around the ranch and in town over a cup of coffee that Sonya had made on the stove. As time passed, Hope rose early, donned a dressing gown, put on the coffee, then waited at the table for Nick to come give her the daily report. She began cooking a meager breakfast for herself and the children. Sonya ate with them and Nick joined at the family table.
He had used the ranch chuckwagon style kitchen at the bunkhouse to cook beans and salt pork, stew and corn bread, even steaks for him and his granddaughter. But after Jude’s funeral all meals were cooked in the Ledbetter home. She truly was grateful they cared so much.
The front door slammed, jerking Hope out of her reverie. She tossed the brush to the table and stood.
“Señora Hope!” Nick hollered from the parlor. “Your mare is foaling! You’re gonna wanna come see this! Señora Hope!”
Her countenance lifted. Yes, she wanted to see Abby deliver her foal. “I’ll be right there!”
She quickly drew her hair back into a bun and secured it with hair pins, then sat to pull on her boots and quickly buttoned each button with the buttonhook. She pressed down the front of her skirt with both hands and ran for the stairs. Abby’s foal. Finally, some new life on the ranch. Nick waited for her at the front door, his old hat in his hands, worry etched his face.
“What’s wrong.”
“Not sure. Let’s hurry.”
Dr. Roland Malone gritted his teeth. He hated the way his partner, Dr. Phillip Payne, treated the animals. He called it training, but it was cruel and the horses obviously hated it, too. They whinnied and reared up on their hind legs, to which Phil would slash their hindquarters with his whip that consisted of nine long strips of leather with brads at each end.
“Get down, you!” Phillip growled. “You’ll learn this act, so help me--”
“That’s enough, Dr. Payne!” Roland snapped. He stomped over to the man he once admired in college and yanked the whip from his hand, rolling the straps around the hard, leather-covered handle as he stepped back from him and the horses. Somehow the horses understood and followed Roland to safety. He led them back to their stalls and shut each door. The horses blew a vibrating sigh through their lips. Roland sighed as well. Never in his veterinary practice had he seen such a sadistic fellow. Phillip’s method sickened him to his core. He seriously didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
He continued walking until he stood out back of the barn where the muck was heaped into a pile to decay, and tossed the whip at the top of the mound. Something had to change. Just then an intense pain shot through the back of his head. Stars glittered before his eyes and his knees buckled. Darkness closed in around him as he fell forward. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he rolled over. Phillip stood over him, a wicked grin peeking through his handlebar mustache. “Don’t ever tell me how to train my animals again, Malone.”
His words faded as a roaring noise overtook the man’s voice and drowned everything out. The roar became so intense, Roland squeezed his eyes closed. Pain intensified with the roaring sound. Nausea churned in his stomach. He turned his head and retched into an already putrid pile of horse urine, manure, and straw.
A sharp pain ignited like fire against his ribs.
“Uh.” The air escaped his lips with a moan. Phillip’s boot landed hand on the ground next to Roland’s side. He had kicked him hard, probably broke some ribs. Roland rolled away trying to scramble to his feet. Phillip kicked him in the buttocks, causing his body to lunge forward. His face buried into the wet muck pile. The whip rolled down the pile and hit him hard on the head. Phillip reached across Roland and lifted the filthy whip. He slung the leather straps against his denim pant leg to open the whip to its length, then brought it over his head and down hard against Roland’s back.
Roland winced in burning agony and pressed further into the pile of rotting excrement. He mustered everything within himself, dug his elbows into the filth and pulled himself through the gory muck.
“Lord help me get away from this insane man,” he prayed. Inch by inch he pulled himself farther away from the stinging lashes that continued to shred his shirt and flesh. The horses whinnied and beat their hooves against their stall doors, were they aware of the abuse taking place outside of their shelter? Prince barked from across the yard. Roland’s foundling mutt tore across the grounds to get to his master’s aid. Prince lunged over Roland but Phillip swung the cruel whip. Prince screamed. His body fell hard on the ground next to Roland. He whimpered with great effort.
Roland continued to move despite his life’s strength oozing out of the gashes on his back. He had to get to Prince. How badly was he hurt? Suddenly, a crashing of wood and the stamping of horses’ hooves pounded past him. He wasn’t sure if it was real or an imagined event. Was it the trampling feet of the horses from Zion who lead the chariot of death to take him home to the Lord? A horse whinnied above his head. Phillip screamed. “NO!”
Dirt sprayed over Roland’s ripped hide, stinging like salt. He sucked air through gritted teeth in order to attempt to endure the added pain. A gunshot rent the air! Terror filled Roland’s heart. Had Phillip shot the horse or Prince? Darkness pulled him down like he was slowly falling into a deep, deep well. He fought its powerful beckoning. His vision was a
murky haze. Phillip no longer stood over him. Prince was silent. The horses were still.
He couldn’t tell what had happened. Despite all his efforts, the darkness had its will and closed in on him like a heavy, wet, wool blanket.
TWO
Hope ran ahead of Nick to the mare’s barn. She halted at the stall gate to rise up on her tippy toes and peer over the wood slats. The mare took a quick breath and moaned. Watery blood saturated the hay beneath her rump. Hope hurried into the stall and looked close for the foal’s hooves. She saw a nose protrude from the mare’s birth canal. “Oh no!”
Hope squatted down and shoved her sleeves high on her arms. “Nick, hold her still.”
He lowered himself beside the mare’s head and gently ran his hand down her neck, cooing sweet words in Spanish. Hope didn’t know what he was saying, but Abby responded and seemed to relax a bit. Hope nodded approval and put her palm on the unborn baby’s nose. She gently but firmly slipped her other hand under the snout and eased her arm in, following the feel of the foal’s head. The mare’s muscles clamped down on Hope’s arms as a birth pain came upon her. Hope grimaced under the bruising pressure and waited for it to pass. Carefully, she eased the foal back into the horse’s womb.
The mare lifted her head and grunted. Nick spoke more quickly to the horse, patting her neck and shoulder. Hope’s back ached, but she remained in this awkward position and searched by feel for a leg, then the other. Another constricting birth pain came on the horse and Hope closed her eyes until it eased away. She maneuvered the foal’s two legs together and leaned back with the legs and the foal’s head between her forearms. Gently pulling, she guided the foal down the passageway to life. She fell back on her bottom as the foal slipped from its mother’s body, landing on her skirts. A woosh of fluids followed the foal and Hope’s lap was covered in slim and blood.
