Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series

by Cynthia Hickey

  After he drained half the bottle, the man yanked her back to her feet. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “What do you want me to say?” She planted fists on her hips and willed her legs not to tremble. “I won’t beg to the likes of you.”

  He laughed. Rotting gums pulled over missing teeth. “That’s what I like. A woman who knows how to hold her tongue. Come on. Let’s make this fast.” He motioned with the pistol back the way they’d come. “We need a bit of privacy for what I got planned.”

  They started off. Was it possible to grab Pa’s musket? Sure enough, he knocked her to the ground. She slid her hand under her and searched through the thick ivy she’d tossed the weapon into.

  Her attacker leaned in. His eyes glittered in the moonlight that filtered through the thick trees. His whiskey soaked breath washed over her. Bile rose in her throat. He lowered his pistol to fumble with the fly of his pants. When he moved to rummage beneath her skirts, she rolled from under him and twisted to the spot where she’d dropped the weapon.

  She grabbed it and shot to her feet. “Give me my money.”

  “Why you little—” He lunged.

  Ruth’s finger squeezed the trigger.

  Leroy toppled with a muffled groan and lay still.

  Oh, God, what had she done?

  Shouts rose from the other side of the bushes. She grabbed the money and the man’s pistol and dashed in a different direction from where they’d come. They’d never find her. Please, God, don’t let them go back and find my sisters.

  Her throat burned from tears she refused to shed over the dead man. She hadn’t meant to kill him. Self defense, that was all. A large log blocked her path. Thanks be to God, it was hollow. With the skill of a weasel, Ruth squirmed inside and stuffed the money into her bodice, the pistol into her skirt pocket. She hugged the weapon like a lover.

  Footsteps crunched. Hoarse whispers disturbed the night. She held her breath and waited. Only ordinary sounds filled the forest. After what seemed like hours, she wiggled free and made her way home.

  Grandma and her sisters looked up from the fresh burial plots. Guilt washed over Ruth. She should’ve been here to lay her parents to rest.

  “Thank the Lord in heaven. I didn’t expect you to make it back.” Grandma leaned on a shovel. “What happened? We heard gunfire.”

  “I got our money back. Pack up whatever you can salvage. We need to leave.” Ruth knelt at her parent’s grave. Loose pebbles dug into her knees and the scent of freshly turned dirt filled her nostrils. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.

  “Where are we going?” Grandma asked. “This is our home.”

  Ruth surveyed the smoldering ruins. Rage as hot as the embers burned through her. Nothing was left but the charred bones of what had once been a fine farm house. It wasn’t home anymore. “We’ll go as far as our money will take us.”

  Chapter 1

  Painted Bluff, Arkansas- June 1865

  Had they found her? Ruth’s heart stilled.

  The silhouette of a man on a horse, a rifle cradled in his arms, stood stark against the backdrop. His frame grew larger the closer the keelboat, The River’s Pride, drew to the dock.

  She forced her breath to steady, knowing, hoping, she and her sisters had left danger far behind. Wouldn’t do her any good to see trouble where it didn’t exist. The men who hunted her couldn’t think to look this far north, would they? Would a threat yelled through a dark night constitute a promise to follow her?

  Within seconds, Ruth and her family would be off the smelly keel boat they’d called home for the last few weeks. Ruth held tight to the promise she made to herself of more responsibility once they found a new home. Grandma might be older, but Ruth had the determination to make sure they survived.

  The pistol in her pocket knocked reassuringly against her thigh. All she needed to protect her family lay in the folds of her calico skirt. She patted the weapon for the hundredth time since they began their journey.

  Clutching her carpetbag, Ruth stared at the limestone rocks towering above the White River. Shades of indigo, slate, and gray streaked the bluff as if God’s delicate brush had recently painted the surface. Too bad He apparently was too busy to send some mercy her way. God’s decision not to help her parents or her, forced Ruth into an action that changed her family’s lives.

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked to the top. The man remained still, like a lord who surveyed his domain. The sun glinted off something pinned to his chest. A shiver hit Ruth like a sheet of icy rain. A lawman. Surely, he hadn’t heard of her this far from Mississippi.

  A vast array of men milled around the dock. They stopped and stared Ruth’s way. Most of them had graying hair or looked barely old enough to shave. They appeared harmless enough. But, prior experience told her looks could be deceiving. She’d learned that the hard way with the bushwhacker barely out of short pants. This place had to suffice as, with the end of the war, they’d neared the end of the river, and most of their funds.

  Apprehension ruffled through Ruth’s body. Surely, they were safe tucked away among the cliffs of this town she’d never heard of before. This little hollow in the Ozark mountains would be their place of refuge.

  Ruth rubbed her pounding temples. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between her family and Mississippi.

  “Finally.” Ruth’s sister Deborah fanned herself with her hat. “I can’t take any more of this boat. And a shade tree would be mighty welcome. The air’s so thick, all I need to quench my thirst is to wring out the air in a glass.”

  “It’s the bugs I can’t stand,” Sarah added, as she swatted a mosquito from her neck. “I’m surprised I have any blood left in me.”

  Grandma bunched her skirt. Her saggy stockings drooped around her ankles. “Think of it as an adventure, girls. We’ve gone places we might never have seen otherwise.”

  “Grandma, please.” Ruth’s cheeks heated. What if someone saw? She tugged her grandmother’s hem down, then pasted on a small smile. “Remember, we’re approaching a place where many men are present. If they catch sight of your scarlet petticoat, why, you’ll break a lot of hearts.”

  “I’m an old woman entitled to do as I please. It’s hotter than a furnace here, and I need relief from the heat. Thank the Lord, you talked us into leaving our corsets behind, although your ma probably rolled over in her grave at the suggestion.” She grinned. “And we both know them hearts are safe, but thank you for fibbin’ about it.”

  Ruth placed her hand beneath Grandma’s elbow and helped her to her feet. “Where’s your hat?”

  “Somewhere down river.”

  Ruth removed the floppy straw hat from her head and laid it on top of Grandma’s. “That ought to help with the heat.”

  “But you need it. You know how your skin freckles.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Better Ruth suffer the sun’s intensity then her grandmother. Fair skin or not, Grandma’s beet-red face could be cause for more concern than the possibility of Ruth getting freckles. A mountain’s weight of responsibility rested on Ruth’s shoulders. Since the death of her parents, Grandma didn’t want to resume the role of head of household. Said she didn’t have the heart for it. Now, the burden lay on Ruth. She wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.

  “So, wise sister,” Deborah shifted to step around the few crates they’d brought with them. “What’s the plan now?”

  Ruth shrugged. “We’ll find out when we disembark.” Truth was, she had no idea. She’d know the opportunity when she saw it.

  She bit her bottom lip and scanned the people along the riverbank, and then back up the steep cliffs. No sight of the stranger on horseback. Some of her tension disappeared as well.

  The crowd of men grew larger. Whistles drifted across the water. Ruth’s breath caught. Had she brought her sisters to a den of iniquity? Thrust them into a situation where their virtue was at stake? Surely, families also occupied the town. There had to be other women here.

&nbs
p; She peered sideways at her sisters. Deborah with honey-blond curls, bluebonnet eyes, and studious personality. Then at Sarah with hair the color of molasses and sleepy hazel eyes. The youngest of the family, Sarah sported a wild streak that drove Ruth ragged. Either girl would cause a riot in a place like Painted Bluff, if the attention in the other towns they passed through was any indication. Even Grandma still showed signs of beauty beneath the crow’s feet around her eyes.

  Ruth smoothed back her tresses. She usually faded into the woodwork around her sisters more lovely attributes. Not that she was interested in finding a suitor. She hadn’t yet met a man she could trust, other than her dear papa, of course. Maybe when she’d made a place for herself, built some security, she’d think about settling down, although she didn’t need a man to help make her way in the world. She could manage just fine, thank you very much.

  The ship docked with a bang against a wooden deck. Ruth clutched the rail for support. A swarm of bearded men rushed them, sending her heart into her throat. “Stay by my side, sisters. Grandma, you too. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “No worries there.” Sarah pressed against her. “My, but they’re a scary lot.”

  “Don’t worry.” The captain approached them. “You’ll have your every need cared for. They may be farmers, but most of them are made of good stock.”

  “We can take care of ourselves, thank you,” Ruth said.

  “I’m sure you can, little lady.” He grinned. “Purty place, ain’t it? If not for the ingenuity and stubbornness of the sheriff, this town would’ve disappeared off the river during the war.

  “Still don’t know why you paid good money for me to take you all the way out here, purty or not.” He spit a stream of tobacco juice into the water. “Especially since travel on the river nowadays can be mighty dangerous. But it’s your money.

  “Be careful. That’s a steep path up the side of that cliff.”

  The two negro men who worked on the ship rushed forward. Each grabbed a crate and moved down the gangplank that swayed beneath their feet. They set the crates on the moist dirt at the river’s edge, and headed for more.

  Men crowded the dock. “Where to, miss?” One with a scraggly beard that reached halfway down his chest hefted a crate to his shoulder.

  “Is there a boardinghouse in Painted Bluff?” Ruth scanned the area.

  A young man, so thin a strong wind could blow him away, blushed to the roots of his cornhusk hair while he dug a bare toe into the soil. “Name’s Daniel Wilson, and no ma’am, there ain’t no boardinghouse. But the Widow Blye sometimes takes folks in. Well, when folks used to travel this way she did. I’ll show ya.” He peered over Ruth’s shoulder in the direction of Deborah and Sarah.

  Ruth sighed. She’d have to be vigilant to keep her sisters safe. “Thank you. We’re much obliged.”

  By the time she hiked half-way up the trail, Ruth’s legs shook, and her breath came in huffs. She turned to see how Grandma fared. She appeared as capable as the others, climbing and gritting her teeth without a word. Her grandma had inner strength. Ruth hoped she could set such an example.

  “I’m going to fall over from exhaustion.” Sarah swiped a hand across her brow. “Why couldn’t the town be built lower?”

  Daniel stepped back and took her arm. She batted long lashes at the boy. “Thank you so much. I’m plumb tuckered out over our travels.”

  Ruth rolled her eyes. Her job would be a lot harder if her sisters insisted on flirting. Maybe she needed to strap a gun to each hip to keep the vultures at bay.

  At the top of the trail, she fanned her face with her hand, struggled to regulate her breathing, and gazed to the river below. Men from the boat ate their lunches while smoke rose from a small fire on the beach and mingled with the green of the trees. A lovely place. One she hoped to make a home in. A safe haven for herself and her family.

  “Mighty purty, ain’t it?” Grandma stepped next to her. Her ample bosom rose and fell after the arduous climb.

  “Yes, it is.” Ruth laid an arm around her grandma’s waist.

  “This way, miss.” Daniel pointed toward the few buildings situated at the top of the bluff. “That’s Main Street.” Pride showed on his freckled face. “We got a general store that serves as a post office, a sheriff and jail, and a blacksmith. That little white building is a church. Ain’t got a regular preacher though. One comes visiting once a month, if weather permits. Sometimes our sheriff says a few words. One day, we hope to have a mayor again. Ours didn’t return after the war. Sheriff handles all that now too.”

  Ruth studied the simple clapboard buildings lining the dirt street. “No school?”

  “Not yet.” Daniel hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls and took a step forward. “The few folks we got teach their own. That log building at the end of the road is Widow Blye’s. Come on. She’s most likely got supper ready.”

  Ruth hesitated. “Oh, then of course, we’ll wait.”

  “No, we won’t.” Grandma planted fists on rounded hips. “I’m hungry.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “What would y’all wait for? She won’t cook again until morning.”

  “It doesn’t seem neighborly to impose on her during the supper hour,” Ruth said.

  “You’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t.” Daniel unhooked his thumbs and crossed his arms. “We don’t get many womenfolk around these parts, so she’ll be glad for the company.”

  “If you’re sure we aren’t imposing.” Ruth set off toward the cabin at a brisk pace. She didn’t need to look behind her to know a mass of people followed. Their murmurs probably carried down the river to Mississippi.

  Before they reached the door, a portly woman stepped onto the porch and wiped flour-covered hands on a stained apron. A wide grin split her face. “Welcome. My, y’all are a sight for sore eyes.”

  Grandma chuckled. “At least four of us are. I’m Miriam Stallings and these three are my granddaughters, Ruth, Deborah, and Sarah. We’re needing a place to stay for a night or two.”

  “Come on in. You can call me Dorcas. I just took a kettle of chicken-and-dumplings off the fire. Plenty to go around.”

  “We’re mighty obliged.” Ruth shook the dust from her clothes. If Grandma wanted to step forward and take care of assuring them lodging, she’d let her. Exhaustion weighed heavy enough to leave her foggy-minded and sluggish.

  “Child, new faces, especially female, are never an imposition in this town. You are a rare sight, for sure.” She waved her apron at those behind them. “Y’all git. This ain’t a sideshow.”

  “We’d best hurry before their tongues drag any farther on the ground.” Grandma pushed the girls ahead of her.

  Ruth stepped into the dimness of the one-room cabin. At the enticing aroma greeting her nostrils, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since morning, and only a stale biscuit then.

  A rough, wooden table took up the center of the room, with benches placed alongside it. One wall housed a rock fireplace. Against the other ran a long shelf. A single cot covered with a colorful quilt sat in a corner. Where would they sleep?

  “You ladies aren’t the only dinner guests I’ll have tonight. The sheriff is coming. Eats dinner with me every Friday.” Dorcas handed Ruth a stack of tin plates. “He feels he needs to check on me ever since my husband died. It’s been five years, and the dear boy still comes.” She laughed. “I think it’s for my food.”

  Ruth set the plates on the table. Fatigue set in her bones, and she couldn’t join the others in their gabbing. Making conversation didn’t rank high on her list of pleasurable pastimes anyway. At least not tonight. All she wanted was food in her belly and a blanket, so she could curl up in a corner and not open her eyes until the sun came up.

  *

  From the moment Sheriff John Powell spotted the new arrivals, he knew he’d have his hands full, especially when he saw how quickly the town’s menfolk gathered on the bank. He sighed and tucked his rifle into its scabbard. They most
likely headed to the widow’s residence. He might as well go introduce himself. Making the acquaintance of a group of women, probably looking for husbands, would go down easier with food.

  He loosened the reins and let his horse, Buster, have his head in order to pick his way down the slope. The shod hooves clattered against the loose rocks littering the trail, accompanying the symphony ringing from the multitude of birds nestled in the trees. He kept the town peaceful, for the most part, and a group of ladies would not mess that up for him. He’d worked too hard to keep this place going after the ravages of war.

  After draping Buster’s reins over the porch railing, he stomped the dust from his boots and stepped into unfamiliar territory. As soon as he entered, the sound of cackling females assaulted his eardrums.

  All but one; a mahogany-haired girl sat slumped-shouldered at the table, while the others chattered like a flock of chickens. The widow seemed in her element, passing dishes and words like she hadn’t seen a member of the fairer gender in months.

  Hogwash. Painted Bluff had women. They were just so scattered, you might only see them on Sundays when the parson was visiting. That’s the way John liked it. Shut away in their homes and not causing trouble among the men. He tossed his wide-brimmed hat toward the hat tree, neatly ringing it.

  “John!” Widow Blye rushed toward him, arms extended. “We’ve got company. Come meet these ladies.” She waved her arm to each in introduction. “This is Miriam and her granddaughters; Ruth, Deborah, and Sarah.”

  He nodded, his gaze not leaving Ruth. Eyes the color of a summer sky, but hooded with exhaustion, returned his stare. She raised an arched brow. John swallowed against the lump in his throat. Regardless of how attractive she might be, with a pretty face and hair that looked as soft as rabbit fur, she wouldn’t ensnare him.

  Choosing the chair on the opposite end of the table, John sat and returned the Widow’s smile. She spooned a healthy serving of chicken and dumplings onto the plate in front of him. Fragrant steam rose and tickled his senses.