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

by Dorothy Wiley

  Stephen closed his burning eyes for a moment. He needed to rest. Could he risk going to sleep? What if a bear or a mountain cat found him asleep? He forced his eyelids open, but they seemed to have a will of their own, a will stronger than his.

  Behind his eyelids, he saw Little John and wondered if he would be all right. Was it a broken rib or had the boy been injured inside? If Little John died, heaven forbid, Jane might blame him again. Would another child be sacrificed for his dream? Please God, no.

  He tried to banish the repugnant thoughts, but they were quickly replaced with yet another worry. Had he wandered closer to their camp or away from it? It was late in the day. It would be dark soon. With the darkness, even deeper cold would come. He had certainly experienced intense cold in New Hampshire, but not when he was this wet and this exhausted. His body could not withstand these conditions for long.

  Bear, William, and Sam would come looking for him when the rain let up. If it ever did. This was no ordinary storm. If it had blown in from the sea, it could rain for hours. Would they know where to look? He hoped he hadn’t strayed too far from where he had last seen Sam. He would be impossible to track after this storm. Maybe he should back track, if he could. Find the spot where they had crossed. But he had to rest first.

  He wearily closed his eyes again. He hugged his legs and lay down, a ball of misery. He pushed his body into the wet earth and pine needles, trying to bury himself away from the chilly wind. His bruised and swollen kneecaps and his strained shoulder hurt, but the pain was almost a welcome distraction from the bone-chilling cold.

  He’d rest just long enough to regain his strength, just for a moment.

  Something woke Stephen. He hadn’t meant to sleep for long, yet he could tell that he had. It was almost dark. The rain, slower now, still filtered through the tree’s branches around his makeshift shelter.

  What had he heard? Maybe he hadn’t heard anything. Maybe it was just the wind, but the wind had mercifully died down. He forced himself to steady his breathing and to listen beyond the rain and into the timber. A shiver went through him. It wasn’t from the cold. He strained again to hear something. But he could not locate the source of the eerie feeling creeping through him.

  He quietly reached for his rifle. Would the powder be dry enough? He emptied the pan and quickly refilled it with fresh powder, trying to keep his half-frozen hands from shaking. The powder might be damp even inside the typically waterproof powder horn. But what he had just been through was not typical. There was a good chance the rifle would not fire. He had his knife and hatchet he reminded himself.

  And he had courage. Faith and courage. He would need both. He slowly stood up. He had difficulty straightening his stiff knees and legs. He leaned against the tree to keep from falling down.

  The shiver hit him again, but this time it slithered down the full length of his spine, waking up his tired back muscles. His breathing quickened with the faster beat of his heart. He stared into the semi darkness, thankful that he at least had some light. He saw nothing. No sounds, no movement. Nothing.

  He was just tired, his nerves on edge. He’d been through enough today. Nothing else would happen. Would it?

  What would Sam do? He’d listen to his instincts. He wouldn’t resort to self-deception—trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. He’d find his courage. He took a deep rallying breath, steadied his nerves, and called upon his senses. Something prowled out there, something malevolent. He scanned the woods again—but this time he looked further, into the trees.

  There.

  Only visible because of its yellow eyes, hot with intensity, focused keenly on him, a huge menacing head. He was enormous—all massive muscles and fur. The biggest wolf he had ever seen.

  The wolf took a step forward and snarled, baring his teeth.

  Even through the rain, Stephen could see its ink black coat bristling. He remembered what Bear had said about wolves having 42 bone crushing teeth. But like a dream wolf, suddenly it was gone again, leaving him with only a feeling of dread.

  It had not gone away. He felt watched. More than watched—studied.

  For what seemed like an eternity, it stalked him. Just out of sight, veiled by the tree’s huge branches and the incessant steady rain. He decided the wolf had revealed himself only long enough to try to weaken his prey with fear. Well he wouldn’t let fear weaken him. To the marrow of his bones, he felt terror, but he would not give into it.

  In a blink, the wolf could leap upon him and rip him apart. The wolf’s teeth would crush his ribs and tear out his heart—destroying everything his heart had dreamed of for so long.

  Here’s where it happens. Just like Sam always said. Being brave wouldn’t be enough. Victory only goes to the bravest and the most savage. He could only survive the wilderness and this wolf if he could be as savage as it was. Stephen reached deep down inside and drew out the strength to battle.

  Still unseen, the black fiend growled deep in its throat.

  The blood-chilling sound made his teeth clench. A sense of imminent attack filled him, but it was more than that. It was a sense of a forthcoming struggle for life. His or the wolf’s?

  Crouched low, Stephen turned in a tight circle, trying to find the brute in the shadows. But the demon would not reveal himself.

  He shuddered and was tempted to run. He took a step forward, testing his knees, then another. He stopped. No, the wolf could easily outrun him. Besides, running in the rain on slippery mud and slick leaves with stiff knees would only lead to falling and being seized from behind. He could almost feel the wolf’s fangs sinking into the back of his neck. As though the wolf was actually leaping on his back, he jerked around and glared behind him.

  But the wolf wasn’t leaping. With wicked poise, the wolf stepped slowly into view.

  Through the ever-changing drips of the rain, he watched the beast’s eyes grow narrow, sharpen into yellow daggers, then his nostrils flared and his lips curled exposing huge teeth. The wolf circled to his right, his steps soft and unhurried.

  He could nearly read the wolf’s thoughts. This was his forest and he didn’t appreciate the intrusion. And he was hungry.

  Stephen tried to think but his wildly drumming heart drowned out every thought he had. He made himself slow his breathing. If he didn’t he’d never be able to aim accurately. Kill it, that’s all you have to do, he told himself. Just kill it.

  He put the wolf in his rifle’s sights, but if the weapon didn’t fire, which was likely, the wolf would be on top of him before he could pull his hatchet or knife. He considered climbing the tree, but his swollen knees would make quickly scrambling up the tree impossible. It would only be a good way to lose a foot or a leg.

  Best to go with a sure thing. He yanked out his knife, good sized, but he wished it were as big as Sam’s blade. He wrapped his fingers, numb with cold, and his raw palm, around the knife’s handle. He grabbed his hatchet with the other hand, the wet handle slippery.

  He tightened his grip on both as another shiny coat emerged from the other side of his shelter.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Look,” Bear yelled, his hunter’s eyes the first to spot Sam. “Sam’s carryin’ Little John.”

  Bear, John, and William left the shelter of the wagons and ran toward the two. They all had to hold on to their hats to keep the wind from blowing them off. Anxious to see Stephen, Jane followed right behind them, her heavy wet skirt dragging in the mud. She was more than a little tempted to exchange her gown for a pair of Stephen’s breeches and a shirt.

  “Help him,” Sam yelled over the wind and rain.

  “What happened?” John shouted as he ran towards them.

  “He fell in a hidden cavern, broke his arm,” Sam answered.

  “Papa,” Little John cried, reaching for his father with his good arm. His little fist clutched the small piece of rope.

  John carefully lifted his son off Sam’s shoulder.

  Jane was relieved to see Little John and Sam, but didn�
��t see Stephen anywhere. “Where’s Stephen?” she nearly demanded.

  “Lost him sometime back. We crossed a creek of rising waters and I don’t think he made it across.”

  Jane wanted to faint. Was she going to lose Stephen so soon after they had found each other again? No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She held her breath as Sam continued.

  “I went back to look for him but with Little John hurting so, I didn’t look for long. Besides, I couldn’t see past a few feet. We’ll find him after this rain lets up.”

  “No, we have to go now!” Jane shouted. “He could be injured.”

  Sam shook his head. “We’d just wind up with more of us lost or hurt. Don’t worry, we’ll leave the minute we can.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry,” she shrieked. “That’s my husband out there!” Her nerves were getting the best of her. She needed to get ahold of herself. “I’m sorry Sam, I’m just so uneasy about Stephen I can’t think clearly. Let’s see to Little John. William, carry the girls from my wagon to Catherine’s. John, put Little John in mine.”

  Jane turned and marched back, wondering if Stephen’s last thoughts would be remembering that she still had not totally forgiven him. She had told him that even though she understood why he had to make the journey, a small part of her still blamed him for the girls’ deaths, and that she would try hard to forgive herself too, not just him.

  She did now, completely.

  God, just let him come back, so I can tell him.

  She lifted her rain sodden skirts, shook off most of the mud, and climbed into her wagon, her heart aching for him, for what he might be going through.

  William and John, who carried his son, quickly followed Jane back to the wagons as strong winds threw waterfalls of rain at them. Bear stayed back with Sam who could only proceed at a slower pace.

  “Ye look like ye’re half dead,” Bear told Sam.

  “Then I look like I feel,” Sam growled. The hail they’d encountered burned his face as if he’d shaved much too close. His matted and soaked beaver cap felt like a dead wet animal on his head. The raw skin of his palms flamed with pain and both his back and newly healed ankle ached from carrying Little John’s weight.

  “How bad off is the wee boy?” Bear asked, concerned.

  “Arm’s got a bad break. Maybe a rib broken too. Hopefully the rest of him will be well. Fell in a cave. Lowered Stephen into it to get him and hauled them both out. Used a long vine for a rope,” Sam explained, raising his voice above the storm. “Everyone here all right?”

  “Aye. We got the wagons moved to higher ground and everything tied down when the storm started comin’ this way. ‘Twas good we did, that river is risin’ fast. The wind’s been blowin’ with a powerful fury,” Bear said looking around. “I worry about waitin’ to go look for Stephen.”

  “I do as well,” Sam said, “but I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “Ye should stay, ye’re worse for the wear. William and I will go.”

  “But I know where I saw him last,” Sam pointed out, spitting rain out of his mouth as he crawled under one of the wagons, followed by Bear.

  “Alright then, take us that far, and then ye can come back. I can look north of the spot ye last saw him and William can look south.”

  “Bear, you’ll only be able to see a half dozen feet in front of you. It’s getting dark. The wind is still fierce and the rain continues to pour.”

  “My eyes are their sharpest at night. The rain will surely let up soon, and we’ll have a bit of a moon when it clears. I’ll tell William to get his horse and George saddled, and I’ll be saddlin’ Camel and Alex while ye rest. Stephen will be needin’ us.” On his hands and knees, Bear awkwardly crawled out of the cramped space through a curtain of water flowing off the wagon’s side.

  Sam had to admire Bear’s persistence. He was right—Stephen could be in trouble and might not survive this night. If he’d been thinking with his head instead of his exhausted body, he’d have said the same thing. His brother needed their help now.

  He hesitated to leave the camp with only John to guard it, but he needed both Bear and William to help with the search. They would have a lot of ground to cover trying to find Stephen.

  Sam rested his head against the wheel as he ate the piece of dried meat and cold biscuits Catherine gave him, before she darted back into her wagon.

  “John, this is a strong medicine. I’m familiar with the proper dose of Laudanum for an adult, but Little John is the first child I’ve ever given it to. I’m not even sure you can give opium to a child. I’m just not sure. And with Stephen missing, I’m not thinking clearly. What do you want me to do?” Jane asked, her heart worried and anxious.

  She wrung her hands, nearly in a state of panic because of Stephen and mad at herself for never learning what a child’s dose should be. Before they left on their journey, Sam ordered the painkiller from Edward as part of their long supply list. Stephen asked her to review the list, but it never occurred to her to ask about the Laudanum.

  John gazed at his son, a father’s compassion filling his eyes.

  Suffering terribly, Little John whimpered pitifully. Exhausted from the excitement of the day and enduring severe pain, it seemed as if he didn’t have the strength left to cry.

  Jane touched Little John’s face and feet. He felt cold as ice. She covered the shivering boy with a wool blanket while John removed his boots and stockings, both soaked through. John rubbed his son’s toes vigorously between his hands trying to warm them while she thought about what to do.

  “Would you give it to one of your girls if they were suffering?” John asked.

  She recalled the suffering her two girls had endured before they died. “It’s your decision John,” she said quietly.

  “Give it to him. I can’t stand to see him suffer like this.”

  The rain continued to patter steadily on the wagon cover.

  Jane turned so Little John couldn’t hear her and whispered, “I’m still not sure. If he overdoses, it might kill him.”

  John reached for Little John’s small hand on his uninjured side and kissed it.

  Tears now glistened through the pain in the boy’s red eyes.

  “How much would you give me?” John asked. “He weighs about a fourth of what I weigh. Divide an adult dose in fourths.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just do it, now!”

  Still apprehensive, she took a deep breath, carefully measured the dose, and gave the drug to Little John. “God let that be the right amount,” she whispered to herself.

  “Pa, Uncle Sam said I’m a real hunter now,” Little John said, his voice weak. The boy soon closed his eyes.

  John and Jane both held their breath until they saw him breathing evenly. Within seconds, he slept soundly, his little hand still clutching the small rope that had tethered his pain.

  “Yes son, you’re a real hunter now,” John said, sounding relieved that his son’s suffering had ended at least for the moment. “I’ll stay with him and get him out of these wet clothes. You’ve done all you can. He’ll be able to sleep now.”

  “His spare clothes are in this bag. I’ll make him a better splint and sling as soon as the weather clears and I’ll put it on him in the morning.”

  “Thank you Jane. Little John’s mother and I are both grateful for your help.”

  “I’d better go check on Martha and Polly. I’m sure they’re both worried about Little John and their father.”

  She was too. Something told her Stephen was in serious trouble.

  “Jane,” John said. “They’ll find him.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Jane climbed out of the wagon, and searched for Stephen’s brothers, relieved to see their horses gone. They had taken Stephen’s horse too.

  She started pacing in the rain. Her hair felt heavy on her back. Her muddy boots felt leaden. All the trees drooped with heavy branches. And her heart wilted with the weight of her worries.

  She stared
into the dismal gloom. Where was he?

  For a moment, she contemplated saddling her mare and following them, but then remembered that Little John might still need her. He could have other injuries and she wanted to be there when he woke. She also didn’t want to leave her daughters.

  She would just have to put her trust in Sam and the others.

  They would find Stephen and he would to be all right. He had to be. That’s all there is to it, she decided, as though her strong will would be enough to save him from whatever dangers he faced.

  With some difficulty, Sam got them close to the spot where they had crossed the rising waters.

  There was no sign of Stephen.

  The water flowed harder and higher now. The churning muddy waters rushed past them with amazing force, carrying branches and other debris. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to pass to the other side.

  The men stuck together. Conditions were too unsafe to split up. They followed the west bank heading north, hoping that Stephen had made it across to the correct bank and that the rising water hadn’t trapped him somewhere downstream.

  Sam theorized that the wall of water they saw coming would have carried his brother south. But Stephen would have realized this and headed north to try to get back to where he’d entered the water. Without landmarks though, it would be easy for Stephen to become confused.

  Sam and the others urged their horses, unhappy with the conditions, to continue plodding through the standing water. Each of the men repeatedly dug their heels into their mounts’ sides.

  A straight route was difficult as they continually encountered impassable areas where the creek was out of its banks. He steered them around these boggy areas, and led the way through thick trees and tangled undergrowth.

  Haste was difficult. Only their concern for Stephen kept them moving forward.