Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1)

by Dorothy Wiley

  With his financial tasks completed, he joined his brothers, still hard at work loading the wagon parked in front of Edward’s store. “Aren’t you finished yet?”

  “You could help some you know,” John grumbled.

  “I could, but then who would ensure you loaded everything properly?” Stephen said, only half in jest.

  He double-checked the long supplies list with meticulous detail, knowing that adequate provisions could make the difference between success and failure in the wilderness. And he had no intention of failing.

  John and Bear loaded the last of the supplies. Kegs of salt pork, half barrels of flour and cornmeal, a barrel of fat, rifles, ammunition, candlewicks, and other supplies Stephen had ordered, filled the wagon. Stephen could see that they had arranged everything with care. Space was precious, so they could take only what was essential.

  What little space still left when they finished would be all the room allowed Jane for her trunks. She had struggled for hours over what to take and what to leave behind. In the end, she took only what she could not replace, a few items of strong sentimental value, and absolute necessities like blankets, woolen stockings, scissors, needles and thread. She and the girls were spending the afternoon with Edward’s wife and children. It would be their last chance to be together and it gave Jane a chance to give many of her things to her nieces. What remained would go to the needy families in the area or be sold for their value.

  Edward went to the back of his crowded stockroom and then returned to the store’s porch. “I want you to have this whiskey and this case of wine. When you’re sitting around the campfire some cold night, maybe you’ll say a toast to me.”

  “I’d rather you were there toasting with us,” William said, taking the whiskey.

  Edward’s eyes met Stephen’s.

  “Edward, let’s go inside while they finish,” Stephen said.

  The air inside of the well-stocked store teemed with exotic smells—cinnamon and pepper, rum and port, tea and oranges. Other merchandise gleamed at them as they passed by—decanters, wine glasses, silver trays, pewter, knives, snuffboxes, and brass shoe buckles.

  As they reached his desk, Edward yanked off his coat and slapped it onto a chair. “Don’t even start Stephen. I know you and Sam think me the coward of the family, but it’s my life—not yours. I will decide what is best for me and mine. Not you,” he nearly shouted, as he crumpled the supplies list and tossed it into the potbellied stove.

  “I don’t think ill of you because you decided to stay. God leads men to different destinies. Yours will be different from ours. And we appreciate you handling our properties. I would have been reluctant to entrust them to anyone else.”

  Edward appeared stunned. “Thank you. You have relieved my mind. I know Sam thinks me spineless. Compared to Sam, nearly all men might be called cowards.”

  “Indeed, his standards are set high.”

  ”But there’s a difference between cowardice and caution. Recklessness gets men killed.”

  “He is a tough man to measure up to. Always has been. Sam is passionate about courage and honor. You are about family and security. In his heart, Sam understands that,” Stephen said.

  “I guess a man can’t help but try to measure up to his big brother, especially a man like Sam,” Edward admitted. “It’s time I quit trying.”

  Stephen held the same opinion, but did not say so because he agreed for a different reason. Edward could never measure up to Sam. “I’ve come to realize that my dream doesn’t have to be your dream. Maybe you’re already living your dream. I just know I’m not,” he said instead. “And I have to make a better future for my family. I must.”

  “I think I finally understand,” Edward said.

  “I think we both do.” He patted his brother on the back. “What do you say we get the others and have a farewell drink?”

  “Splendid idea. We’ll toast to your new home in the west.”

  On the way out, Edward grabbed a 100-foot coil of rope and a saw. “You only had 25 feet of rope on your list. I thought you could use this 100-footer. You can’t have too much rope and maybe this new saw will come in handy when you build your new home. The one you have is so old it was probably grandfather’s. And this is the best wool blanket made.”

  “If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be sending your whole store with us,” he said with a smile. “Then you’ll have to come.”

  The farewell drink together was the first of many difficult goodbyes, both to those still living and those who had passed on. After they left the tavern, feeling especially sentimental with the aid of the whiskey, they rode to the mountain that held their parents, sister, and their childhood home within its base. The four sat their mounts side by side, staring at the site of the massive mountain slide. It looked to Stephen like a huge grave with an immense tombstone. Together, in silence, they recalled their mother and father—parents who had raised them to be the men they were.

  The gentle sound of the breeze grazing against his ears soothed his remembered grief. He noted that brush and young trees now grew where their family home once stood. The mountain buried part of him too that day too. Stephen’s future had been there with his father, working the farm they both loved. He still struggled with the terrible weight of that loss.

  He studied the beautiful mountain, where he had explored and played as a child and hunted as a young man. Warm memories filled his mind. His love of the land came from his father. Stephen missed him.

  He reminded them of one of their father’s favorite sayings, “Always be willing to fight for your neighbor, and kill for your brother.”

  “A wise man,” Sam said.

  Stephen dismounted and handed his rein to William. He pulled a pocket-sized sack from his jacket. He strode a few yards away and knelt to the ground, scooping up a large handful of dirt. He carefully filled the sack with the cold dark earth of his father’s mountain grave. Then he tied it tightly before placing it inside his waistcoat, in the pocket next to his heart. It would remain there until they reached their new home.

  He remounted and gazed up at the top of the mountain. The time had come for new mountains to climb and new memories to share.

  And for Stephen, a chance to give his family a better home.

  They would have to live by their father’s motto to reach that home. They would soon become part of a new frontier Sam Sr. knew nothing about. But they had been raised to be not only well educated men of faith and courage, but to also be tough, tenacious, and strong. Growing up during a war equipped them to deal with challenges to their courage. They were ready to face the future—a world of infinite promise and untold perils.

  CHAPTER 13

  April 26, 1797 Today we began our journey. Ho for Kentucky—we are on our way. We have stopped to rest about ten miles from home. Stephen is leading us to a new home. Despite all his reasons for going, I found it so difficult to leave. I hope we are doing the right thing, but part of me keeps screaming ‘stop’. Departing was agonizing. When the wagon’s wheels first rolled away, carrying the precious few belongings I could bring, my hands were shaking and I felt like someone just kicked me in the stomach. Jane read what she‘d just written. She took a deep breath before continuing. But, I have no regrets. At least not yet. With God’s favor, we will all safely reach paradise, and a new home. She underlined ‘all’ three times.

  It was late in the day when Sam turned to Stephen and said, “I smell rain on the wind. Let’s make camp here before it starts. I’ll hunt meat.”

  Before taking off on foot, Sam checked his Kentucky rifle’s load. A dead shot with it, Sam could put a bullet through a deer at 300 yards and drill a hole in an enemy’s head at 250 yards.

  German and Swiss gunsmiths in Pennsylvania designed the long and slender weapon, but named it after the state that inspired its design. The hunters who stalked the deep dense forests of Kentucky required the accurate long barrel and the lower weight of the slim stock and ammunition. The lighter rifle
suited Kentucky riflemen well because they hunted largely on foot, as did Sam.

  Once their family traveled beyond densely populated areas, settlements or trading posts would be few and far between, so they needed to be self-sufficient. Their sustenance would come largely from animals, the only consistent food supply. They would need to conserve bullets and powder, neither readily available. For the hungry traveler, a hunter’s first shot had to count, because if he missed, he scared off any other animals nearby.

  “What did that gunsmith do to make that Kentucky rifle so accurate?” Bear asked. “My old Bess musket could na hit anything beyond 60 yards.”

  William and John both moved closer so they could also hear Sam’s answer.

  “He extended the barrel to four feet, decreased the bore size to half an inch, and increased the size of the sights. Long barrels fire a bullet more accurately. And the smaller caliber bullets allow much lighter barrels, making not only the ammunition lighter weight, but the rifle as well,” Sam explained. “I’ve brought one for each of you. We’ll open the crate tonight. You’ll need to shoot it some to get used to it. No two guns are alike so make your mark on your rifle so you only use it and get familiar with how it shoots. Make it a third arm—never far from your body,” Sam advised.

  “A Kentucky rifle feels different—much lighter than a ten-pound musket. She’s a graceful beauty that makes a man smile,” William said. He had shot one belonging to a friend in the past, but until now had not owned one.

  “This Bess never makes me smile,” Bear said, “but she sometimes causes me to curse like a Barbados sailor.”

  Stephen could not wait to use the rifle. He’d be able to shoot from further away, a distinct advantage when hunting or fighting Indians. “It’s fortunate that gun is so accurate, we need to be crack shots to save ammunition.”

  “Or to stay alive,” Sam said woodenly, as he marched off to hunt.

  As he was about to leave the clearing, Sam turned back to Stephen and yelled, “Don’t use anything but bone dry wood. Less smoke to draw attention to us.”

  Stephen and Bear unloaded Jane’s cooking utensils and the supplies needed to make camp.

  After gathering up several armfuls of the driest wood he could find, Stephen retrieved the long-handled axe secured with straps to the side of the wagon. He began chopping up the larger pieces the way his father taught him, his rhythm was so smooth the strikes sounded almost musical.

  “William, stop tuning that violin and get a fire started,” he said as he carried an armful of firewood to Jane.

  “Just getting it tuned for tonight,” William said, grinning. “I plan to keep you all entertained on this trip. Just because we’re headed into the wilderness doesn’t mean we have to leave culture behind us.”

  “You’re entertaining all right,” Stephen said, “but not because you’re such an accomplished fiddle player.” He marched off to get pails of water.

  Jane noticed Martha, Polly, and Amy tagging close behind Bear as he unloaded supplies from the wagon. He had to work to keep from stepping on them. Her daughters had become fond of their big friend.

  “Bear, how do we know which way Kentucky is?” Martha asked.

  “Kentuk,” Amy repeated.

  Bear put down Jane’s heavy iron pans and knelt next to the three girls. “Well now, wee princesses, long before men from Europe came to the colonies, wild animals and native Indians lived here. The animals made many good paths that lead to water or to other things we need like salt licks. The Indians followed those same game paths, and made them wider into trails, and white men followed the Indian trails, and made them wider still into roads.” Bear drew imaginary roads into the dirt to show Martha. “The northern and southern tribes of Indians traveled along a trail called the Great Indian Warpath for trade or for war. This trail goes around stony ground or dense growths of brush and trees. White men made many of these Indian trails into wagon roads that they now call the Wilderness Trail. We will follow this trail whenever we can. When we get to Kentucky, Daniel Boone and his men have already forged a good road into the wilderness for us to follow.”

  “What’s wilderness?” Martha asked.

  Jane could see Bear thinking, trying to come up with an answer they would understand.

  “Wilderness is where only God has touched the earth, where it remains as it was created,” he finally said.

  “Will we get lost?” Polly asked.

  “Nae, wee one. Yer Uncle Sam has traveled all over these colonies at one time or another. He willna let us get lost.”

  “Bear, why did Father want us to move from our big house?” Martha asked.

  Martha’s question surprised Jane. Stephen had told the girls they were going to a place where there would be more land. Martha obviously didn’t understand why her father thought land was so important.

  “Sweet lass, your Da must do what he thinks is best. Na just for him, but for yer Mum and for ye girls too. He is a wise man. He is doin’ what he must—what his strong mind and his good heart tell him to do,” Bear tried to explain.

  She prayed this trip would be what was best for her family. She wanted to have faith in Stephen. It was too late to second-guess his decision now.

  “Will there be Indians on these trails?” Martha asked timidly.

  Martha still had vivid nightmares about Bomazeen. Jane thought the nightmares would probably continue until they were far away from home. Her heart clenched. If only she could have done something to spare her daughters from the terrifying encounter.

  Rather than answer, Bear glanced over at her, and waited for her to nod her consent before he continued.

  “Aye, lass. But do na worry about that now. Not all natives are hostile, but yer Uncle Sam and I are well used to fighting Indians if we need to. With these braw new long rifles, we’ll be able to shoot them when they’re still a mile away.”

  “Good,” Martha said.

  Jane hoped a mile would be the closest hostile Indians ever got to her sweet girls.

  Their first evening on the trail passed quickly. After Stephen got Jane’s cook fire going and helped her to start the fresh meat to roasting, Sam opened the crate of Kentucky rifles, giving one to each of the men and one to Jane. The .40 caliber weapons cost him more than two year’s salary, but they would be well worth the expense. The slender rifles were not only lightweight and accurate they were quick to load. Sam said he could reload his in 12 seconds while running, and that after some practice they would be able to do so as well.

  Stephen stroked the smooth maple stock and admired its graceful lines and skillfully made iron accoutrements, including a distinctive patch box in the stock. He pointed the weapon towards the distant hills, pleased with the good sights. His first new rifle, he would treasure it. A rifle like this could mean the difference between life and death or between a full belly and starving.

  For target practice, Sam nailed a white feed sack to a tree 100 yards from camp. By the time Jane had supper nearly ready, the sack hung in shreds.

  “Let Jane try,” Stephen suggested.

  “That would na be fair,” Bear said, “there’s na but a wee bit of threads left to shoot at.”

  “Give me that rifle,” Jane demanded, clearly challenged by Bear’s comment.

  With Stephen’s help, Jane loaded her new weapon. She tucked it securely into her shoulder, took aim, and fired. What remained of the feed sack fell to the ground.

  “Those green eyes aren’t just beautiful, they’re as sharp as a hawk’s,” Stephen bragged.

  “I made it easy on all of you,” Sam said. “Next camp, I’ll put it out 150 yards.”

  By sundown, Sam’s weather prediction came true. Thunder rolled in a long parade, as if the storm played hundreds of drums and cymbals as it marched across the countryside. Wind gusts picked up and large cold drops of rain started to slap their faces.

  Jane quickly got the girls and Little John under cover inside the wagon, and then started collecting her cooking utensils. />
  Stephen gathered up their new rifles and stored them away along with anything else that could blow away. Before he and Jane climbed inside too, he swung her around into the circle of his arms. Putting his hand to the back of her neck, he drew her lips to his and gently covered her mouth. She returned the kiss with abandon, letting the rain patter down on them both. Then he forced himself to step back and help her into the wagon.

  As he climbed up behind Jane, William and John crawled under the wagon for their shelter.

  Sam and Bear took cover under shelters they had made earlier from tree limbs and hides they had placed on high ground.

  A lightning bolt cracked overhead. Polly squealed and Amy pressed her tiny hands to her ears. Little John clung to Stephen’s damp wool jacket. Martha just looked annoyed at being stuck in the wagon for the rest of the evening.

  “Don’t worry, lightning is just the Almighty’s way of reminding us how powerful He can be,” Jane said, wrapping her arms around both Polly and Amy.

  “He must be fierce,” Little John said. “I wouldn’t want to make him mad.”

  “Many grown men aren’t smart enough to realize that,” Stephen said.

  CHAPTER 14

  The next morning Jane made a brief note in her journal. The storm last night passed quickly, but left the ground wet, just enough to make everything muddy. Stephen is so full of energy and hope. He inspires us all. I pray that God will give him the strength he will need for this journey, and that He will give us all strength. I fear we will need it.