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

by Dorothy Wiley

  Moments later, Bear returned. “Sam’s pinned under a tree in risin’ water,” he yelled. “Need rope and saws. Hurry!”

  Stephen instantly tied the oxens’ reins, leapt off, and opened the supply box attached to the wagon’s side between the wheels. He grabbed the axe, saws, and the rope Edward had given them, and then gave them to Bear and William.

  “Is he hurt bad?” Stephen asked.

  “If he’s not, ‘twill be a miracle. His horse is dead,” Bear said.

  “Jane, hold the team here until we get back. Keep your rifle loaded and dry and the children in the wagon,” he instructed. “If you need us, fire the rifle.”

  They reached Sam and John as quickly as they could. “How bad is he?” Stephen yelled as he flew off George.

  John held Sam’s head, doing his best to keep his eyes and nose out of the water. “He’s still breathing. Hurry—the water’s rising,” John pleaded.

  Stephen grabbed his axe and the three ran to Sam’s side.

  “He’s knocked out. It could be bad,” John said. “I can’t lift him any higher—his arm’s pinned. His left leg is under the horse—probably broken. It’s a heavy tree, but his horse took the brunt of it. We’ve got to get the weight off that leg before it cuts off the blood or he’ll lose it.”

  “William, use the saw to cut off this branch pinning his right arm,” John ordered. “Bear, get the big rope and put a loop around the top of the trunk over there. Once William has the arm cleared, use Camel to drag the tree. Stephen, use the axe to clear all the small branches from around him so they won’t tear him up when we pull the tree off. I’ll check on Sam some more to see if anything else is broken.”

  The builder in John had designed an efficient plan to free Sam. It took only a few more minutes before they were ready to move the tree off.

  Standing next to Camel’s head, Bear urged the big gelding forward. The horse struggled against the enormous weight. The tree didn’t budge. Slick mud, wet leaves and pine needles, made it hard for the gelding to get any traction. Bear coaxed Camel again. “Come on now, ye’re a giant among horses, my friend. Our Sam needs your help.”

  Camel seemed to respond to his master’s plea and the surefooted gelding’s muscles tightened as he took a step forward, then another. “Aye, that’s the way.”

  Stephen let out a sigh of relief when Camel managed to move the tree just enough to lift it off Sam’s horse. He and William had tied their ropes to the dead horse’s flank and used their mounts to lift up the hips. John quickly freed Sam.

  “Got him,” John yelled, over a loud clap of thunder.

  They rushed to Sam’s side. His brother’s ankle pointed at nearly a right angle to his leg.

  “That ankle’s clearly broken. We’d better set it before he wakes,” John said.

  “I’ll get Jane,” Stephen said. “She knows more about doctoring than all of us put together.” As a youth, her father had her doctor animals and as a young woman, she had done some nursing during the Revolution. “William, come with me so you can guard the children.”

  William turned without saying a word and jumped on his mount, already heading up the trail. Stephen followed.

  Spare Sam, Stephen prayed as he rode. They needed him to make it safely to Kentucky, but, more importantly, he loved his brother. And, aside from their father, he respected and valued him more than any other man he’d ever known. He couldn’t imagine his life without his big brother by his side.

  They reached Jane just as he finished his prayer.

  “Jane, Sam’s injured. He broke an ankle, maybe more. Need you to set the ankle while he’s still unconscious. William will look after the children and bring the wagon. Grab what you need. Ride William’s horse.”

  “What happened?” she yelled as they rode side by side.

  “Huge tree fell on the gelding. Pinned Sam and his leg was caught under the horse.”

  Jane carefully set the swelling ankle, using pieces of bark, cloth, and braided leather. She had to move quickly and do a good job, or Sam would always have a limp. He might anyway, even if she did set the ankle exactly right. Stephen watched, grateful that Sam never woke while she worked. But his brother slept fitfully and from time to time moaned loudly. He worried that the ankle might not be the worst of Sam’s injuries.

  While Jane worked on Sam, they unsaddled Sam’s dead horse and William caught up to them with the wagon. The wind had let up and a slight drizzle was all that remained of the violent storm. They were all soaked and chilled to the bone, but none as cold as Sam.

  “His skin feels like ice,” Jane said.

  “We need to get him someplace warm before he gets a fever,” Stephen said.

  “I’d best see if I can find shelter up ahead.” Bear said.

  It did not take Bear long to locate the same outcrop of rock Sam had spotted. By noon, the group managed a rough shelter under the cliff and used a dead log and dry leaves, tucked under the overhang and out of the rain, to quickly build a fire. They placed Sam on a pallet next to the warm flames. Stephen and John took off Sam’s wet clothes so Jane could examine him further.

  “There is considerable bruising, but no open wounds,” she told them, “and I see no signs of burns from the lightning strike. His internal injuries are unknown. They could be severe. I wish we had a physician to examine him.” Jane applied ointment to Sam’s cuts and scratches.

  Stephen had to help Sam somehow, if only in his own small way. He took a dry cloth and dried as much of the moisture off Sam’s skin as he could. They would all need to dry off, and get warm, but Sam came first. He covered his brother with the wool blanket Edward had sent and tucked it snugly around his chest and feet.

  “Will he wake up?” Polly asked meekly, helping to straighten the blanket across her uncle.

  “We must pray that he will,” Stephen said, placing his hand on the top of his daughter’s little shoulder.

  “I don’t want Uncle Sam to die,” Little John told his father through tears.

  Stephen understood how unnerving it was for the children to see their hero in such a state. It worried all of them. Sam could have unseen injuries and he might never wake.

  “He won’t die Little John. The good Lord knows we need him to help us on our journey,” John said. “I bet he wakes up tomorrow morning as fierce as ever.”

  It would be a long time until morning. Stephen would get little sleep, if any, and his stomach would be knotted with worry by then.

  Amy scooted up next to Sam and knelt down. She gently kissed his forehead and then his bandaged ankle. “Mama says kisses make hurt bedder.”

  Polly also knelt down and kissed him. Then Martha did the same.

  Stephen studied Sam, desperately hoping that Jane was right.

  CHAPTER 21

  The prayers and kisses worked. Sam woke the next morning.

  Jane examined Sam’s swollen arm and knee. The ankle caused him great pain, but otherwise he appeared to be all right, except for numerous bruises and scratches nearly everyplace Stephen could see.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” he told Sam, handing his brother a generous cup of whiskey for pain after they finished breakfast. He suspected Sam would not savor the whiskey. He hurt too much to enjoy it slowly.

  “I’ll try my best not to put you through that again,” Sam said, gulping a big swallow. “Was it hard to get the tree off?”

  “Indeed, but thanks to that new saw and the long rope Edward gave us, we made quick work of it. We might still be working on it if we hadn’t had those.”

  “Here’s to Edward,” Sam said, downing the rest of the whiskey with relish. “Too bad about my horse, he was a good one.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to ride?” he asked.

  “I’m as sore as a butchered hog, but yes, if one of our spare horses will let me mount from the off side with my right foot,” Sam said. “I can just leave the left one hanging, and ride with one stirrup, especially if I can stay on this medicine. How about an
other cup?”

  He took the cup but filled it with coffee instead. He needed Sam alert enough to shoot straight if the need arose. “I’ll give you a stronger cup in an hour.”

  The group decided to rest up for a week or so and let Sam recuperate.

  “I’ll start training one of the spare horses to let you mount from the off side. It bothers some horses, but others not at all,” Stephen said.

  That afternoon, he chose the bigger of the two extra horses he had brought along and started training it. He spent two full days mounting the tall buckskin from the off side to get it ready for Sam. The beautiful golden gelding, with a silky black mane and tail, became indifferent to which side Stephen mounted him. He also spent the rest of the week fine-tuning the horse’s other skills. Sam’s new gelding was a quick learner and willing to please.

  After several days, Sam could take short steps if he used a sturdy branch for a cane. He hobbled over to where Stephen worked with the horse and watched. Stephen remembered that Sam had admired the gelding when he brought the mount back from Barrington, but hadn’t been willing to give up an experienced mount for a green one. After this training, the steed would be more dependable.

  “He’s level-headed but he’s got a lot of go in him,” Stephen said. “You’ll have to hold him back some.” He made the horse turn in a tight circle. “As you can see, he reins well too.”

  “Looks like you’ve polished him up well,” Sam said. “Thank you for getting him ready. You’ve had several horses over the years. Which one was your favorite? Old Rebel?”

  Hearing the name, Stephen fondly remembered the first horse his father gave him. “I don’t know. I always like the one I’m riding. But George is exceptional. He’ll be hard to beat.”

  “This one will be called Alex,” Sam declared.

  “Why Alex?”

  “After Hamilton—the rascal who came up with that excise tax on whiskey last year. He’s a horse’s ass, so I thought it would be a fitting name.”

  “You can’t name your mount after someone you dislike. The horse is a noble animal and you should name him after someone you respect. That’s why I named mine George, after Washington.”

  “You got it wrong brother. A typical horse is an ornery, untrustworthy, unpredictable animal that’s only useful if exceptionally well-trained.”

  “Good steeds are God’s greatest gift to man, next to a woman of course. And I suspect most horses give a man less grief than most women,” Stephen retorted.

  “What did you just say?” Jane asked, just walking up as he finished his sentence.

  “I was explaining to Sam why a man should name his mount after someone he admires,” he said quickly.

  “What I heard was that most horses can give a man less grief than a woman,” she declared, crossing her arms.

  “That’s exactly what he said,” Sam said. “I heard those very words myself.”

  Stephen could tell that Sam was feeling the effects of the whiskey he still drank for pain and had seized an opportunity to cause him problems.

  “I said ‘most’ women, that doesn’t mean you Jane,” Stephen said, feeling defensive.

  “What women do you mean then?”

  He swallowed. Jane wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “I don’t mean any women. I was talking about George. No, I meant horses in general.”

  “No, you said George was God’s greatest gift,” Sam injected, clearly enjoying himself.

  Alex snorted contentedly and Sam laughed while he brushed the gelding’s coat, shining now like new gold coins.

  “You’re deliberately trying to cause trouble with my wife. I can see you’re feeling better. We leave tomorrow,” Stephen said, and marched off.

  After walking only a short distance with the cane, Sam limped back to camp instead of hunting with Bear, unable to put his full weight on the ankle, even after three weeks. “Damn that’s aggravating,” Sam said, through clenched teeth. Glowering, Sam threw his cane down and took a seat near Jane.

  Jane could see that it made Sam mad to admit a physical weakness. It was something a man like him just didn’t do. He had always been an exceptionally strong man, able to travel great distances by foot without fatigue. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jane said. “It has only been a short while since your injury. If you push yourself too hard now your libel to have a bad ankle your whole life and I worked too hard to make that ankle mend correctly.”

  “You did a splendid job with splinting. It just needs a while longer,” Sam said, looking calmer now. “You look pale. Are you feeling well?”

  Jane inhaled and let the breath out slowly. Even breathing seemed to make her tired. “I’m just weary. This journey is considerably harder than I expected. It nearly killed both of us. One day we’re cold and wet from these horrendous storms and the next we are sweating through our clothes and the air is so heavy you can hardly breathe. And I miss being clean. I’m constantly covered in either mud or dust to say nothing of these annoying insect bites.” She paused long enough to scratch her itching ankles. “And we still have so far to go. I don’t mean to complain. I’m just bloody tired.” She stroked the neck of Sam’s new horse, tied nearby. The buckskin’s silky hair felt good against her palm. Precious few things on this journey felt soft to her hand.

  “Jane, don’t fight this trip. You can never win. Draw strength from being tested,” Sam said. “That’s the difference between those who make it and those who don’t.”

  “How? How do I do that?”

  She waited while Sam thought for a moment before answering.

  “Like Alex here, he feels soft and looks beautiful on the outside, but when you touch him, you also feel strong hard muscle beneath. When he’s pushed, he responds from that power. Think of these challenges as exercises to build your inner strength, not obstacles to sap it.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.” She didn’t feel beautiful on the outside or strong on the inside. She saw only mud and dirt and felt only mounting weariness.

  “Nature never fails to challenge us. If we fight it, we exhaust our strength. But if we respect it, both for its power to create and to destroy, it can help us grow stronger.”

  “You want me to respect the wilderness? Use it to make me stronger?”

  “I challenge you to do so. If you don’t, you’ll grow to hate the wilderness But if you do, you will find the beauty in it, learn to love it as I do.”

  Sam was right. He was proof of his own words. She lifted her chin and said, “All right, I accept your challenge.”

  She took a deep breath and marched off to find Stephen. Then they would both bathe in the nearby beautiful pond. The idea suddenly sent her spirits soaring. Picturing the hard muscles of her husband’s bare body made her feel stronger already.

  The next few weeks passed uneventfully, except that Stephen noticed that the children changed from week to week as children are wont to do. Baby Mary started to walk, Amy grew another tooth, Polly started reading, Martha grew at least an inch, and Little John decided he was old enough to ride his own mount. He begged Stephen to let him have the remaining spare horse. They had sold Little John’s pony before leaving Barrington because it was too old to make the trip. The extra horse was especially gentle and reined well and Stephen knew it would be easier on John’s mount if it did not have the extra load of the boy every day.

  “I think Little John would be a fine horseman,” he told John. “It’s in his blood. Besides, the horse needs to be ridden if he’s going to stay gentle.”

  “Then you ride him,” John retorted, “Little John is just a boy; he doesn’t need a man’s steed.”

  “He’ll need to become a man quick enough on the frontier. The sooner he gets started the better,” Stephen snapped back.

  “I’m his father and I’ll decide when he needs to become a man,” John retorted.

  “John, Stephen’s right,” Sam intervened. “Little John will be much safer if he’s a good rider. A fine mount can save a man, or a bo
y, from disaster. Soon he’ll need to learn to handle a weapon too. It’s time you let the boy start to grow up.”

  John glanced at Stephen and then Sam. “All right, so long as Stephen teaches him to become a better rider.”

  “And I’ll teach him to use a knife,” Sam promised.

  “There’s a secret to loping a horse the right way,” Stephen told Little John later.

  “What secret?” Little John asked.

  “It’s all in the reins,” he explained. “Most people keep the reins in the same spot held over their mount’s neck or saddle.”

  “That’s the way I do it,” the boy said.

  “That’s wrong. You see, the horse is moving his head as he runs. It moves forward and back, just as your body does. So the reins need to move with his head. Otherwise you’re jerking him every time he takes a step and it’s hard for him to run smooth.”

  Little John said, “I want to be a good horseman, just like you Uncle Stephen.”

  “To be a good rider, you need to understand how your gelding moves and, more importantly, how he thinks.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “It’s mostly time in the saddle. The more time you spend with him, watching him, learning how he thinks, the more you’ll understand him.”

  Little John, now six, took to the horse instantly and the two became inseparable. With every lesson he gave him, his nephew’s skill as a rider and the boy’s gratitude towards him grew.

  Stephen suspected Little John would have sided with him in the recent debate with Sam on the proper inspiration for naming a horse. Little John named the gelding Dan—after his hero Daniel Boone.

  CHAPTER 22

  To describe today would be a repetition of yesterday. We have come over 300 miles. We are continually plagued by rain and grey skies. Every storm makes even making a meal a challenge. Yesterday’s weather was especially oppressive. I thought I would go mad from the incessant pounding of raindrops on the wagon cover. I have given up trying to keep us all clean, instead focusing on my struggle to keep the children warm. We have stuck a wheel so many times I have lost count. I am trying hard to live up to Sam’s challenge, to think of these trials as opportunities to grow stronger. But, nature seems determined to test my resolve.