Stolen Dreams (The Rivers Brothers Book 2)

by Lynn Landes

  “Tomorrows confession will be eye-opening,” she mumbles with a semi-hysterical laugh.

  Turning to look at her bed, she notices a letter. “Oh!” Her mother’s name is written in a beautiful script. Exhaustion forgotten, she sits on the hard cot that has been hers for the past six years and traces her fingers across the letters.

  Carefully, she opens the envelope and wonders who her mother got to write it for her and how she got the money to pay for paper and an envelope. She reads swiftly, and her hands begin to tremble.

  My Dearest Daughter,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. We're so proud of you, Bronnah. Please know that you are in our daily prayers and trust that your Da is happy knowing that you are doing God's work. Though we miss you dreadfully, I take solace in knowing you're are well cared for at the Sisters of Charity Academy for girls.

  Our family news is dire. The rent was raised again, and we could not meet the demand. Our eviction came in the early morning hours. They destroyed our home, as humble as it was, we treasured it and the memories it held. Your Da didn’t take it too well.

  We’ve been at the workhouse for three months in Kilkenny. I haven’t seen the baby since he was taken to the infant ward. Inmates are not allowed to mix. I fear he will not survive the month. He was so small and frail at birth. Though desperately seeking work there is none to be found. Patrick is good, mostly.

  Would you believe he snuck in twice to see me last week? He made me promise not to cry anymore, or he wouldn't come again. I love that boy! He brought a note from your Da, and it did my heart good to see Patrick's penmanship improving. I pray he doesn't get caught sneaking around. I'm afraid he's learning a great deal more than I wished for him.

  The sisters say that after a year we may be able to get passage to America. We are thinking on it seriously. Bronnah, I want you to focus on your work and take care of your own health. We want you to be happy. I will write again soon.

  God Bless you, my daughter.

  Mother

  May 10, 1871

  Teardrops stained the paper, and she quickly pats it dry to protect the script. The door flies open, and Lizzy rushes inside. Elizabeth Mcinish is her best friend and roommate these last six years. Bronnah and Elizabeth were lucky enough to be chosen by the Sisters of Charity Academy to live there and be educated as nurses.

  Lizzy skids to a stop, concern playing across her face, she rips a black scarf from her long dark brown hair. “What’s wrong?”

  Bronnah hands her the letter and stands up releasing her long white-blonde hair from her scarf and begins unbraiding it. One of the requirements of living and working with the Sisters is that they wear the habits of the nuns. They dress in black with a white apron over the top of the rough linen dress. Some of the girls like, Bronnah, are forced to cover their hair because it causes too many distractions among the inmates they serve.

  At twenty-one, Bronnah is stunning with high cheekbones, lush pink lips, and a beautiful figure. But her eyes are her most arresting feature. Large, round green eyes with a slight tilt, lined in solid black lashes. It was decided that she must cover her hair and work in the infant and children’s ward for her own safety. Her rare beauty is a challenge for her more days than she cares to think of.

  The Academy was normally only for the wealthy families and their children's education. Sister Hannah had taken pity on the poor fifteen-year-old parish girl who had buried her husband of three months. Bronnah was one of a few girls recommended for a new pilot program to help the community. It was made up of girls from the surrounding areas that showed the most potential to become nurses. They were from all walks of life, including some of the most impoverished families. Bronnah had shown exceptional intelligence and had a gift for languages. Over the last six-years, she had been at the Academy Bronnah had excelled as a student and caregiver.

  “I’m so sorry, Bronnah, but all is not lost. At least in the workhouse you know they are being fed and taken care of. Come out with me tonight. It will take your mind off everything.” Lizzy jumps up and begins tearing off her habit and apron, tossing them in the corner of the room. She strips and washes her lush body quickly, using her basin of cold water, before pulling on a corset that pushes up her large breasts. A bustle follows, and a red lacy dress drapes over her fine stockings and boots.

  Elizabeth Mcinish is from a very well to do family. At sixteen, she's younger than Bronnah but much more adventurous. With porcelain skin, dark hair and amber colored eyes, she's a beauty to be sure. The money her family paid allowed Lizzy to have a private room, but the Sister's chose Bronnah to keep her company and look after the younger girl.

  “Help me with my hair, please.”

  Bronnah moves to her and begins to pin it up for her while she talks. “Three other girls are going to meet me, please say you’ll come with us.”

  “Not tonight, Lizzy. I’m beat.” Lizzy is young and selfish at times, but Bronnah loves her like a sister. “Promise you’ll be safe.” Her day was spent caring for the infants and babies in the sick ward. Thinking of her baby brother, Michael, in such dire straits breaks her heart. Lizzy grabs her hand and looks up at her.

  “I promise to think on your problem, dearest. Don’t fret.” Jumping up, she steps to the door, “Wipe your eyes, your nose is red.”

  Bronnah laughs and nods, sighing with relief when storm Lizzy departs.

  Leaving Ireland to live in England was not her choice, but her family didn't want to pass up the opportunity for her to receive an education of that caliber. English, composition, history, ancient philosophy, French, Italian, astronomy, geography, math and even music. Bronnah would have only received a basic elementary education at home. Six years is an unusual amount of time for a young girl to stay and she knows soon she could be asked to leave to make room for another girl. Most leave to get married around Lizzy's age.

  "All this education and I still can't help my family." Bronnah strips to her chemise and drops to her knees beside her cot to pray for guidance, "Father, I will trust in you," she whispers before falling into an exhausted sleep on the hard cot with coarse sheets and rough wool blankets.

  “Wake up!” Lizzy shakes Bronnah from her dream and stifles a giggle when she almost screams in shock.

  "Lizzy! What are ya…?"

  “Read this, you won’t believe it!” She shoves a newspaper at Bronnah interrupting her and jumps up, too excited to sit still.

  Lizzy lights the oil lantern on the wall and whispers, “It’s an advertisement for America. The western ranchers need wives. They pay for your passage and give you travel money. Upon arrival, we are matched up. Bronnah it’s perfect!”

  Bronnah sighs and shoves the paper back at her. “Perfect for you. I can’t leave my family, Lizzy.”

  “That’s rubbish, Bronnah. They will thank you once you are able to send money back to them.” Lizzy begins to strip out her ruffled dress and tosses the article back at her.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Bronnah leans closer to the lamp and reads it more closely.

  "I overheard the sisters talking, Bronnah, you're going to be asked to leave by Christmas, and my family has chosen a match for me. He's forty!" She flops down on the bed with a frown.

  “Oh,” Bronnah sighs and rubs her neck.

  Lizzy looks at her with a glint of determination in her golden eyes. “I have some money put aside, Bronnah. I’m going, but I’d much rather do it with you at my side. Listen to what it says.” Grabbing it, she reads it out loud.

  "Marriage Broker. Seeking comely wives for respectable, wealthy bachelors. Gentlemen and Landowners doing a good business, desire the acquaintance of young, intelligent and refined ladies, "that's us," from 16-25 years who are willing to make a house a home. All expenses paid."

  "It sounds too good to be true, Lizzy," Bronnah says but, in her heart, she keeps hearing her mother's words. They might be going to America too. Her options here are not good in the least. Excitement hums and she watches Lizzy p
lop down on the cot across from her in disappointment. "However, the only offers I've had lately are from drunken Davey. It looks like we're going to America!"

  Lizzy squeals and hugs her tight. “Thank you! You won’t regret it dove, we are going to have a grand adventure together!”

  Chapter 3

  Diving into the lake, Chase roughhouses with his brothers splashing and throwing each other into the deep water. Summer is his favorite time of the year. Perfect for fishing in the lake and swimming.

  "Watch this," Chase yells climbing out of the water and running to a tree. He swings out on the rope over the deep part of the lake and drops in with a tremendous splash.

  One second, he's swimming in the clear blue water at home and the next he's engulfed by a sea of blood, death, and dismembered body parts. No space is free of it. His silent scream blows the bloody water out, and it covers his soul as surely as the water covers his flesh. Nightmares haunt him, and he wakes gasping for breath and covered in sweat. He can still smell and taste the metallic scent of blood and rotting corpses as he struggled to find a spot in the battlefield of his mind that wasn't saturated by death.

  Chase slips out of the house in the middle of the night and heads to the barn. Addie's eyes haunted him all day, her terror-filled gaze begging him for help, and he felt nothing. Would he have let her die? If he did, what would it mean?

  At his stall, he guides his horse out and saddles him for a ride. He knows the process by heart. It's second nature to him now. The sound of boots behind him has his head dropping in resignation. "I could smell you a mile off, Pa."

  “That’s just a safety precaution, so you don’t shoot me.” Dane Rivers smirks as he puffs on his black pipe, the scent of cherry smoke ripples around him.

  "Funny," he snaps as he brushes the horse and tosses the pad on his back.

  Dane watches his son quietly before he begins saddling his own horse. War ages a soul, and it shows in the quiet, solemn, countenance that his son carries now. Chase drops the straps down on his saddle and tightens them before glancing at his father in surprise.

  “You don’t have to ride with me. I’ve ridden all over this country and back, without my Pa by my side.” He mounts swiftly and checks his weapons before his father speaks.

  “I know that son, but you don’t have to do it alone now.” Dane pulls himself up and settles onto the worn saddle. He puffs on his pipe softly as they ride out.

  They ride along the perimeter around the house, checking the fencing that holds the bulk of their horses. The Rivers Ranch sits on five thousand acres, and with the coming of the railroad, they've been able to add to their livestock. Horse, cow, sheep, and more. It was a blessing to see how well the family is thriving.

  Truth be told, Chase missed this way of life. The simplicity of surviving off the land instead of a gun. He missed waking up and working the land with his family, but mostly he missed the laughter and love.

  “You ready to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you,” Dane asks.

  Chase laughs and glances at his father. Short cropped white beard, skin leathered from the sun and the same River’s eyes he grew up with. He pulls the horse to a stop and looks over at him. “I know you’ve heard about the shootout in town.”

  “I did. Damn fine work, Chase, catching that outlaw,” Dane pulls his horse up evenly with his son.

  “I didn’t catch him. I put him in the ground,” his hardened silver eyes flash at his father.

  Dane is quiet for a moment before he speaks. “It’s not an easy thing, taking a man’s life and living with the doubt after, can eat at your soul.”

  Chase steps from his horse and drops the reigns allowing his horse to graze on some grass. Dane follows suit and steps closer to his son to listen while he repacks and lights his pipe once more.

  "That's just it. It doesn't." Chase starts pacing while he talks. "Yesterday, I weighed the value of one human life over another and I was willing to do whatever necessary to make sure he didn't get away."

  "You did what had to be done," he argues, and Chase stops and turns to look at his father.

  “I did, but for one instant, one fraction of a second, I thought about it. I almost made the wrong choice. Oh, I try to tell myself that if I let him get away who knows how many more victims he would take. Is the life of one saloon girl worth potentially hundreds?”

  "In the end, you made the right choice. You're not here to judge her choices. Addie's life is not meaningless. Chase something in you recognized that. But surely you know that your job is important. Without consequences for our actions, right or wrong, countless more victims would scream out for retribution and not find it."

  “Maybe.” Chase looks out over the surrounding valley and wishes he was sure. “I used to know.”

  “Tell me, Chase, why you felt the need to go join in the war? It wasn’t required for our part of the country, yet you enlisted anyway. Why?”

  “Justice and Freedom.” Chase answers without hesitation. “I don’t believe it’s a privilege but a right every human should have.”

  Dane smiled warmly. “Exactly, and when you became a U.S. Marshall?”

  "Same reason. We shouldn't have to fear for our family, homes or property. I wanted those like Cassandra to have justice," he states, referring to his brother's wife. Her family was slaughtered by men seeking gold. Running a hand through his newly cut short hair, he glances at his father. "Addie called me a monster, and I can't disagree with her. I saw it in her eyes, the moment of doubt and I thought about shooting anyway."

  Dane lets him vent and listens.

  Chase paces and his voice grows louder. “During the war, they became meat to me. No different than the cattle we raise and slaughter.” Chase punches his chest, “I didn’t feel anything, only the rush of the kill. What do you say now?”

  The burden he carries weighs heavily on his son, and Dane feels for him.

  "I say you need some time to heal. Wrap yourself in the comforts of home. Decide why you do what you do. Remember who you're doing it for. Watch your niece and nephew growing on the land we fought and killed for. Yes, killed. We are no more monsters than you are." He points his pipe at him, "Killing can't become the reason you live, Son. Only a last resort to save a life or protect those you serve. As a soldier, you served your country, as a Marshall, you serve your district.” He grips his son’s shoulder, “Maybe now it’s time to serve yourself. Find your purpose again.”

  Chase listens and takes the words to heart. "I'll try, thank you for listening, Pa."

  “Always, Son.”

  Chapter 4

  “The tickets are here!” Lizzy waves the unopened letter in the air, the second Bronnah steps inside. “Hurry, Bronnah!” She grabs her arm and drags her inside slamming the door.

  Butterflies erupt in Bronnah's stomach, and her hands tremble as she looks at the envelope. "Elizabeth, you should be sure. It's not too late for you to change your mind," she says softly.

  Lizzy snorts, “What, stay here and marry some old dodger? No. I need adventure, Bronnah. I’ll die if I stay here. I want to travel, see the world, and meet new people.” She shoves the envelope at her, “Open it.”

  Bronnah slides her finger along the seal and rips it open, carefully. Inside is a single piece of paper, folded around two tickets. “Chen Matrimonial Broker. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. Enclosed you will find two pre-paid tickets on the U.S. Freesia bound for New York, on August 12th. Upon arrival, enter the Castle Gardens and ask for Mrs. Killian,” Bronnah reads aloud. “That’s in three weeks,” she whispers.

  Lizzy gasps. “I will need new dresses! Chen Matrimonial, are you sure that’s all it said?”

  Bronnah frowns at the tickets until Lizzy snatches them from her hands.

  “That won’t do at all! These are steerage class!” Lizzy gasps.

  “What did you expect, first class?”

  “I will take care of this. You’d better start packing. We’re going to New York!”
Lizzy laughs and hugs her before dashing from the room.

  Bronnah sits down and stares at the piece of paper. “It looks like I’ll be getting married, again.” How had her life turned out like this? Marrying a stranger in a strange country? “What am I thinking?” Standing up, Bronnah begins to pace in her little room. “Sean, what do I do?” she whispers thinking of her husband.

  He died fighting back when they came to evict them from his land. Young, hot-blooded and full of life, he refused to leave and fought back. They shot him without mercy and tossed his dead body in the road before lighting the thatched roof of their home on fire. Nothing survived the flames. Bronnah was away helping her mother through a difficult delivery. The one saving grace was that she was not home when he had died.

  In her heart, she knows this is her only chance at a new life. She will be able to help her family and perhaps honor Sean when she succeeds. “I’m going to America,” she whispers and smiles as she gets up to write her family a letter to let them know.

  The next three weeks pass in a blur, and before she knows it, they're standing on the docks staring up at a massive Steamship with beautiful white sails. Lizzy is beyond excited, and her voice fades away as Bronnah looks at the lines running to multiple ports around the world. "Look, Lizzy, at all the countries. Germany, France, Brazil, and the United States."

  “I know, just think of how many people we’ll meet! Don’t fret, we shall avoid the long lines. I have our tickets here.” She pulls Bronnah along with her, “I still don’t understand why they were only going to allow me to bring two trunks. Can you imagine?”

  “Well, these steamships were built to carry passengers or freight. I imagine space will be at a minimum,” Bronnah explains with a laugh. Her single trunk would not be a problem. “Lizzy, I should warn you our accommodations will be stark compared to what you’re used to.”