Also, of note is the fact that most of the terrible reign of The Vigilantes ended in 1884. Those who are history buffs, please forgive me for fudging the timeline of history to fit my story.
If you’ve enjoyed this story and could find the time to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it!
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by Lynnette Bonner
Fair Valley Refuge
THE SHEPHERD’S HEART SERIES, Book 3
Published by Serene Lake Publishing
Copyright © 2012 by Lynnette Bonner. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design - www.indiecoverdesign.com
Images ©
www.bigstock.com, File: #2460720
www.bigstock.com, File: #78680417
Author photo © Emily Hinderman, EMH Photography
Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Fair Valley Refuge is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.
Printed in the U.S.A.
TO MY GRANDPARENTS:
CLAY & ONA STEWART
&
LIONEL & ELTHA FURMAN
Each has gone on to their eternal reward, but they left a Godly legacy and a lasting impression on this world, and I’m proud to have known and loved them.
Acknowledgments
Behind every successful author is a supportive spouse. And I’ve truly been blessed with one of the best!
There have been many times when he’s held down the fort at home, so I could either go somewhere quiet to write, or pursue one or another of the myriad things that crop up in a writer’s life (like the ever-so-important coffee with a critique partner.)
Honey, I’m so thankful for all you do!
Αγαπο σε!
Psalm 23
A PSALM OF DAVID
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever.
Prologue
New York City, July 21, 1867
Thick black clouds covered the moon and stars, blocking out even the pretense of light. God had, at least, granted that favor. Ignoring the pain that emanated from every pore of her body, the woman clutched the baby to her chest and took Zeb’s hand, allowing him to help her from the coach. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Yes’m.”
Darting a look around, she scuttled across the cobblestone street.
The Foundling Hospital lay just ahead now, all its lights extinguished. Hannah had told her to expect that. She trembled as she stepped onto the walk. Pausing, she swiped the tears from her cheeks and glanced both ways, and then behind her, straining to glimpse any movement or change of shadow. No one was there, as it should be at this hour of night.
Clutching her precious bundle tightly, she hurried on towards the hospital. Mercifully, the babe slept. At least her last memory of the child would be one of peace and contentment.
The door loomed ahead, its pointed arch only a lighter shadow outlining a darker center. Her steps faltered, now that safety was so near.
Easing back into the dark shadows next to the door of the hospital, she pressed against the wall and lifted the baby touching her damp cheek to the child’s small soft one. A silent sob parted her lips, shook her shoulders, and stole the strength from her legs. Sliding down, she laid the babe across her lap and wrapped the blanket tightly around her so she wouldn’t get cold in the night. She dashed more tears from her cheeks with quick, angry swipes and tucked the note carefully into the folds of the blanket making sure the rag doll was there too. It was not right, this travesty.
Yet love compelled her. One last time, she trailed the back of her first finger over her daughter’s soft cheek. “Ahh Lambkin, the good Lord He be knowin’ I’m only tryin’ ta save ye. ’Tis His forgiveness I’ll rest on. I ken not another path to take.”
The baby took a soft shuddering breath and turned her face towards the finger, searching even in her sleep for something to latch onto.
Quickly now, lest she change her mind, the woman opened the outer door of the hospital and stepped into the vestibule. Standing still, she let her vision adjust to the soft candlelight, searching first for anyone who might be lurking in the room. It was empty. She sighed in relief even as her heart sank at being so close to this oh-so-final act.
There across the room, tucked into a small alcove she could see the candle-lit niche holding a white-swathed cradle. A crucifix hung above it, Christ’s arms stretched wide to welcome the children placed below him, a reminder that loving sacrifice had been made before.
She swallowed, looked down, pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, instinctively pulling the child tighter to her breast. I’m so unlike Ye, dear Father. I ken only make this sacrifice kickin’ and screamin’ on the inside. I didna know he was such a bad’n. Give me strength, Father of Grace.
The baby bleated a soft cry of protest and the woman’s heart skittered. The last thing she needed was for one of the nuns to hear and come to see what was going on. Quickly she brought the babe’s hand to her tiny mouth so she could find her thumb. A smile softened her face as the wee child spurned her thumb and settled for slurping on her two middle fingers.
Tears blurred her vision again, shattering the candle flames into glittering, twinkling, haloed-stars. Slowly, she stepped towards the cradle and laid the bundle of blessing inside. Trembling, she clasped the heart-shaped silver locket at her neck and slid it back and forth on the chain. She’s a right to be free from me mistakes. The metal against metal zinged softly as she stared down at the babe, indecision furrowing her brow. She’s also the right to know. After only a moment’s hesitation she lifted the chain from around her neck and tucked it into the babe’s blanket next to the note and the rag doll.
Looking up at the crucifix, she folded her barren arms. “Ye brought this child safe from me womb into this world. I give her back to Ye.” The broken whisper sounded loud in the room. A sob caught in her throat as she touched the baby’s cheek for the last time. “The Lord bless ye and keep ye, chil’. May He cause His face to shine upon ye. And give ye rest.”
Turning she stumbled out into the darkness, leaving the babe behind.
Sister Josephine Claremont stepped into the vestibule the next morning, her hands tucked carefully into her sleeves. A slight rustling sound was her first clue that they had a new little one. Leaning over the side of the cradle, she peered down at the tiny babe. Lying on its stomach, eyes open, two fingers captured in its little mouth, the baby couldn’t have been more than a day or two old.
“My, my, tiny one.” She reached for the baby and snuggled it into the crook of her neck. “What hardships has our Good Lord rescued you from, eh?”
The baby shifted a wobbly head and slobbered all over its fist trying to find something to suck on.
“Now, now. That’s not going to do you a bit of good, that fist is not. What say we get you a yummy meal of milk, hmmm?”
Sister Josephine calmly walked upstairs to the nursery, even though her heart was pounding like the choir-boy who got carried away with his drum last Christmas. It never ceased to surprise her when a child was left here for them.
Sister Rose tsked when she entered the nursery. “Oh my, another one? Is it a boy or a girl?” Rose slipped a clean shirt over little Francy’s head.
Five-year-old Anna stopped tracing on the slate and scampered over to see the baby. “Who’s baby?”
“The Good Lord’s, child.”
Josephine laid the baby on its back and unwound the blanket around it. A thin onion-skin paper fluttered to the floor and Anna bent and picked it up. A silver locket and a small rag doll were the only other items with the child.
At the feel of the cool air on its body the little mite balled up its fists and howled.
“Hmmm! Good lungs!” Rose commented, handing Francy two wooden blocks.
Josephine reached for a dry diaper. “Girl,” she pronounced in the middle of the procedure. “There now!” She cooed as she wrapped the blanket tightly around the little tike once more. “All done, and we’ll get you a nice warm bottle of milk. How will that be? Hmmm?”
“Here’s her letter.” Anna held the paper up to Sister Josephine.
“I’ll go get Mother Superior while you get her a bottle,” Rose said.
Josephine looked down at Anna. “Thank you, child. I’m going to the kitchen for just a moment. I’ll be right back and you can help me feed the baby. Mean time, watch Francy like a big girl.”
Mother Superior and Sister Rose entered the nursery just as she was settling back down with the new little one and showing Anna how to hold the bottle.
Smoothing one palm down her habit, Mother Superior held out her hand for the letter. She scanned it and then lifted her head, eyes rounding. “We need to get this child on the next Baby Train. That’s in two days. See to the task of outfitting her. I will look through our records for a suitable family.”
1
Shiloh, Oregon. April, 1887
Victoria Snyder gasped and snatched the newspaper closer to her face. “Oh! Today of all days!” How had she missed seeing the ad until just now?
Mama rushed into the dining room, her hair still in rag curls. “What is it, Victoria? I thought I heard you talking to someone?”
Victoria schooled her features, carefully folded the paper and set it aside. Wedding planning. That’s what’s kept me from noticing it. The last thing Mama needed to worry about on her wedding day was a couple more needy children. “It’ll keep, Mama.”
She stood and placed a kiss on Mama’s cheek, hoping the wild pounding of her heart could not be heard. In her own ears it sounded like the thunder of a wild stampede. Her mind rushed over today’s schedule. Would she make it to the train station on time? It would be tight, but she could make it. She had to make it.
She patted Mama’s shoulders forcing her thoughts back to the present task. “You are going to be the most beautiful bride in Oregon today!”
Mama chuckled. “Well, not with these things in my hair! Come help me take them out, would you? My arms get dreadfully tired, trying to untie them all.”
Victoria grinned, delighted by her mother’s excitement. She would think about getting to the train station, after the wedding. Right now she wanted to revel in Mama’s giddiness. “Dr. Martin will be happy to take you as his wife any way he can get you! I think you should walk down the aisle with all those rags in your hair, just to see if he really loves you, or not!”
“Oh, Posh!” Mama waved away her joke with a flick of her wrist.
Victoria covered her mouth as Mama grinned and rushed from the room in a flurry of frilled petticoats. She couldn’t stop a little giggle at the thought of Mama actually showing up at the church with all her rag curls still in. Wouldn’t that give Julia Nickerson something to talk about at the next quilting bee!
Lifting the skirt of her new golden-yellow gown, she followed Mama to help her finish getting ready. Entering the room, she glanced around and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. Everywhere she looked Mama’s touch was evident. From the colorful, hand-appliquéd floral quilt they’d sewn the year Victoria turned thirteen, to the braided rugs they’d just finished last summer – everything in this room would be a reminder of Mama. She fiddled with the pendant at her throat, unanticipated dread threatening to rob her of today’s joy. After the wedding, Mama and Dr. Martin were going on a wedding tour to San Francisco, California. And when Mama got back she would move into Dr. Martin’s little home above his office. Mama’s trunks were already packed and waiting by the door.
Mama caught her eye in the mirror. “I’ll just be across town, Ria.”
Victoria forced a smile. “Of course you will. It’ll just be different. I’ll get used to it. And,” she shook her finger, “don’t think you are getting away from me, because I plan to visit you! Often!”
Mama chuckled. “You’d better, or I will come after you with my rolling pin! Now,” she patted her hair and arched her dark eyebrows.
Victoria stepped up behind her and deftly began pulling the rags from her hair. She glanced up and compared their reflections. They were about as different as any two women could be. Mama’s dark hair and coffee colored eyes graced a heart-shaped face with a smooth, clear complexion. It amazed her that anyone in this town actually believed she was Clarice Snyder’s daughter. Even Papa had been blessed with dark hair and bronze skin.
Before Mama and Papa had moved to Shiloh they had lived in Nebraska. She could still vividly remember the taunts the children at school used to hurl at her. She swallowed and pressed away the memories. That was in the past. Still, she often wondered if she really did have vile blood running through her veins. Who were her people? Where had she come from?
“What are you thinking, honey?”
Victoria wrinkled her freckled nose at her red hair. “It’s amazing that anyone in this town believes I’m really your daughter.”
Mama’s features softened. She reached up and patted Victoria’s hand, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “You are as much my daughter as anyone of my own flesh and blood could ever have been, darling. The day the Good Lord brought you to Papa and me was the best day of our lives, and don’t you be forgetting it. Just because I’m marrying again and moving over to the doctor’s house, doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“I know.” Victoria made an effort to lift her shoulders and put a smile on her face. She would get through this. Mama certainly deserved this bit of happiness after all she’d been through.
Mama spun around on the stool and captured Victoria’s hands. “Honey, I know I’ve told you this before, but I want to remind you again. You are special. Just because your parents gave you up, doesn’t mean the Lord doesn’t have great plans for you. I can’t tell you the number of times that I’ve thanked the Lord for sending you to Papa and me.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “When Jesus took Papa home, I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it, and you were such a source of strength to me.”
Victoria pressed a handkerchief into Mama’s hands, blinking back tears of her own. “Now, Mama. We can’t have you looking all puffy-eyed on your wedding day.”
Mama chuckled and dabbed at her tears. “Honey, I just don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you.”
Pulling her into a hug, Victoria rested her cheek atop the dark curls. “I know you aren’t. Things are just going to be different. It’ll just take a little while to adjust, is all. I’m so happy for you. And I’m really glad you are feeling so much better, lately. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, too.” And that was the truth of it.
Mama patted her arm. “I’m not planning on skipping through the pearly gates anytime soon, dear. I’m afraid you are stuck with me for a good long while yet.”
Victoria chuckled. “Good! Now,” she set Mama away from her and spun her back towards the mirror, “we need to finish getting you ready. Sky Jordan said he would be here to get you at
ten and it’s already a quarter past nine. We can’t have you late to your own wedding!” She removed the last few rags from Mama’s hair.
Grinning, Mama clasped a pearl necklace about her throat. “Doc said he’d come for me himself, if I was even one minute late.”
“I can see him doing it, too.” Victoria plucked the wedding dress off the bed and gestured for Mama to stand. Settling the gorgeous champagne satin over Mama’s head, Victoria fluffed and fussed with the skirt until it lay in disciplined pleats over the voluminous petticoats. Stepping back she admired the ecru lace and pearls that graced the fitted bodice of the gown. “Oh Mama! You are so beautiful! Here.” She gestured to the stool in front of the dressing table again and Mama sat. Victoria bent and began fastening the tiny satin-covered buttons that lined the back of the dress.
Mama cleared her throat and fiddled with something on the dresser top. “Rocky got back home this week.”
Victoria’s fingers stilled, her heart shying like a stung mare. Resuming the buttoning, she carefully kept any hint of emotion from her voice. “I heard.”
“He stopped by Doc’s last night while Hannah and I were there. Doc asked him to walk me down the aisle. I was hoping he’d get back in time.”
“Before she went back to the orphanage last night, Hannah told me he was shot trying to help Jason apprehend a criminal.”
“Mmmm, but Doc says he’s going to be fine. It will just take a few weeks for him to fully recover the use of his arm.”
Victoria fastened the last button and stood. Her lips pressed together, she reached for the brush and styled Mama’s hair for the beautiful pearl combs. Nothing she said would keep the morning peaceful. Mama loved Rocky and had been gently pressuring Victoria in his direction for years – ever since Victoria had innocently proclaimed on her thirteenth birthday that she thought she loved him.
The Shepherd's Heart Series: A Boxed Set Book Bundle Collection Volumes 1-4 Page 57
