If you enjoy historical fiction...
Read an excerpt from the first book in my Shepherd's Heart series…
Book 1, Rocky Mountain Oasis
The Shepherd's Heart Series
Chapter 1
Lewiston, Idaho Territory
August 1885
Brooke Marie Baker pressed a hand to her thumping heart and forced herself to breathe normally as she walked into town beside the last wagon of the caravan. Whether she wanted to be here or not, they had arrived. Six months of grueling travel across rugged prairies and mountain passes. Aching back. Aching feet. Oppressive heat and little to eat. Yet she’d be willing to travel on forever if it meant she didn’t have to be here. Didn’t have to give up her freedom.
This morning Harry had said they would arrive in Lewiston today, but she had hoped something would delay the inevitable.
The weathered facades of the clapboard houses she walked past and the monotonous creak of the wagon wheels turning over the graveled street proved her hope had been futile.
Along both sides of the road, as they turned onto the main street, people stopped to stare. Brooke didn’t meet their gazes but kept her perusal focused on the buildings. Real buildings with boardwalks, stairs, and windows. The last time she’d seen boardwalks had been three months ago at Fort Laramie.
Ahead, someone let out a loud whoop of joy.
She looked down the line of bonnet-topped Conestogas.
The first wagons had come to a stop, and apparently the gathered crowd had been anxiously awaiting their arrival. Toward the front of the throng, a cluster of men stood, studying the caravan expectantly.
Almost all of them had long, tobacco-stained beards. Not one looked like he was under fifty-five, and several had no compunctions about scratching themselves in public. One man, thick black suspenders holding up his baggy pants, ogled Brooke from head to toe. Then, still scrutinizing her, he leaned to one side and spat a stream of tobacco.
She felt a familiar quiver of fear and glanced away, offering the man no challenge.
“Let’s get on with the marryin’,” a deep voice toward the back shouted. “I got plenty o’ work waitin’ for me back ta home.” A loud grumble of agreement followed.
An older man scratched at his beard and complained, “You all was supposed to be here two days ago.”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Harry’s spurs jangled as he jumped to the ground from his position in the lead wagon. He was using his let’s-stay-calm tone—the same one he’d used when Emily Donaldson had discovered the much-too-friendly beaver in the bathing hole back on the Platte and every last woman had rushed screaming from the water. “Give me a moment to gather your brides, and then we can proceed.”
The grumblings ceased and, apparently satisfied the men had gotten his message, Harry turned and strode Brooke’s way, thumbs hooked into his large silver belt-buckle. “Come on, ladies. Everybody circle up. We’re here.” His familiar rap-rap as he knocked on the side of the first wagon resounded down the street.
Her stomach threatened to empty right there in front of God and everyone. She stepped back behind the tailgate, drew in a long breath, held it, and eased it out between pursed lips. Pushing aside memories of days gone by, she forced her shoulders to relax. While she dared not hope that things would be different this time, neither did she want her nervousness to be apparent.
Rap-rap. He’d reached the second wagon. Only four more to go.
She took another breath and released it on a low whisper. “You can do this. Calm down.”
A moment later he peered around the end of the wagon. “Brooke? I need everyone to meet up front, please. The men have a minister here already.”
“I know.” The words emerged on a squeak, and she pressed moist palms together, rubbing them in circles.
Harry gave her a sympathetic look. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m real careful to make sure all the men are honest, upstanding citizens.”
Emily Donaldson rounded the wagon, her red-painted lips puckered in aggravation and one dark eyebrow arched. “Comforting, I’m sure, Harry, for a young girl like her.” She pierced the wagon-master with a glare.
If only Emily knew. But she didn’t. None of them knew anything about her or the real reason she was here.
Harry snorted and stalked off, grousing, “Just be up front in five minutes. And best you follow instructions this time, Emily Donaldson!”
Emily huffed. “What do men know?” She put an arm around Brooke and rested one cheek on the top of her head. “Come on, now.” She gave Brooke a gentle squeeze. “No use us trying to postpone the inevitable.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Brooke trailed after her past the row of wagons, feeling sweat trickle down her back.
All the women gathered on one side of the street under the overhang in front of the bank. The men clustered across the way, looking them over like meat on a market table.
She swallowed down the burn pressing at the back of her throat. Of course she hadn’t expected anything better. She pressed the sleeve of her dress to the beads of moisture dotting her forehead. If it wasn’t so hot, this might be easier to face.
The minister in the dusty street between the two groups raised his arms for silence. “All right, listen up now. To make this as efficient as possible, I will call forward each man. He will present me with his documents, and then I will call forward one of you women and we’ll have a ceremony for that couple, then move on to the next one. My wife and Mr. Preston here—” he glanced over his shoulder at a plump woman and a frowning man standing off to one side, “have agreed to be witnesses, and the hotel down the street has prepared a special meal for the occasion.”
A chorus of appreciation rose from the men. The women remained silent. Only one or two even shuffled their feet.
“Oh and one more thing.” The minister again gestured for everyone’s attention. “Is there a Miss, ah—” he patted several pockets then finally pulled a paper from the one in his shirt and consulted it—“Brooke Baker, here?”
Brooke blinked in surprise. Could this be a reprieve? Maybe the man Uncle Jackson had pledged her to had died or changed his mind. She stepped forward.
But Harry spoke before she could find her voice. “Yeah, she’s here. What do you need with her?”
The minister peered at her over the top of his spectacles. “Miss Baker?”
Mouth dry, she nodded.
“Your intended has asked that I escort you by stage to a town about half a day’s ride from here called Greer’s Ferry. So you won’t meet him until tomorrow.”
Brooke’s knees nearly gave out in relief, but by some miracle she stayed on her feet. “Oh, thank you, sir.” Heat rose up from her collar and into her face. She’d sounded a trifle too gleeful.
Easing to the back of the crowd, she relaxed against the building’s warm brick and tucked her trembling hands behind her. Her eyes dropped closed, and she tilted her face to the sun.
One more day. One more day of freedom.
Pierce City, Idaho Territory
August 1885
Evening shadows stretched long as Sky Jordan placed the last of the supplies onto his pack mule. The leather of the packs creaked as he settled them into place, cinched them down, and made sure everything was in proper order. He stood in front of Fraser’s Mercantile, scratching the mule behind its long gray ears, surveying Main Street.
A lone pine tree grew in the middle of the dusty street at the south end of town, its shadow falling due east. Summer crickets chirped lustily from the bushes nearby, and he could hear the occasional tink of bottle on shot glass emanating from Roo’s Saloon across the street.
From an upper-story window in the Joss house, a Chinese woman emptied a pail of water onto the street, splattering mud on Gaffney’s Pioneer Hotel next door and leaving a small muddy patch in the alley between the buildings.
“Sky! You comin’ in here? Food’s gonna be cold ‘fore you ever set down to table!”
A rough gravelly voice interrupted his perusal of the town. He glanced up at the friendly, round face of Jed Swanson, who leaned over the rail in front of his boarding house.
“Food ain’t gonna be fit for hogs if’n you don’t get in here,” Jed complained, rubbing a plump hand down the front of his greasy, apron-clad belly.
A smile stretched Sky’s face. Jed’s food always fell somewhere between burlap and leather, but Jed invariably claimed that was because it had been left sitting too long.
“Your food? Fit for Hogs?” Sky taunted, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease his old friend.
“Hmmph!” Jed shook his wooden spoon at Sky. “Mind your manners, or you won’t be gettin’ any o’ my fine fixins.” He turned away, slamming the door as he went inside.
Sky gave the mule a friendly slap on the neck, left it tied to the rail, then trooped wearily up the steps to Jed’s boarding house, the building next door to Fraser’s Mercantile.
The rough wooden door opened on squeaking hinges as he entered. He hooked his black Stetson on a peg in the wall and scanned the room.
The only light in the gloomy confines of the rugged log building emanated from a small oil lamp set in the middle of the dining table and a brightly burning fire in the fireplace on the back wall. The stone and mortar hearth, stacked high with logs on one side, held the wrought-iron hook by which the coffee pot could be swung into the heat of the fire. Off to the left, on the back wall, he could see the dark shadow of the doorway that led to the rooms Jed rented out.
Sky turned to his right. Several men were already seated around the coarse plank table, shoveling food into their mouths as though it might disappear before their eyes, their forks clanking loudly against tin plates. His interest piqued as he noticed his cousin, Jason, sitting in the dim light at the end of the table, his back to the wall. A hefty man with unwashed blond curls covering his head, Jason looked as surly as ever. His large belly, the result of his love of beer, protruded over his huge silver belt buckle, bumping the table.
Sky sauntered casually to an empty chair, sat down with his back to the room, and began to serve his plate, listening to the conversation around him.
Fraser was speaking. “This boy is a lunatic, I tell you, and he wants to court my Alice. She’s only fifteen, and I sent her down to Lewiston to get an education, not to court boys. So I told him straight out, when I was down to Lewiston last, that he had better stay away from her. Now, with her being over seventy-five miles from here, that in itself wouldn’t give me a whole lot of comfort, since I wouldn’t trust that boy as far as I could throw him. But I also told Judge Rand that the boy was not to come around anymore, and if anyone will make sure he don’t, it’ll be the judge.”
Sky’s mind wandered to his little sister back home as he added a spoonful of greens to his plate. Wonder if boys are coming to call on Sharyah already? She was about the same age as Alice Fraser. He smiled to himself. Knowing Sharyah and her blond curls and beautiful sunny smile, the boys were lined up for a mile outside of the little white farmhouse back in Shilo. Dad’s probably going through the same thing as Fraser.
Jed slurped his coffee noisily. “Judge Rand be a good man. Speakin’ o’ which, I hear tell Lee Chang is up to his ol’ tricks again. Nigh on got hisself killed by a trader that came through the other day, way I hear it. ‘Cept Chang’s goons came to his rescue and ran the feller out of town. He tried to pay the man with some o’ that bogus gold he’s gettin’ a reputation fer usin’.” Jed shook his head. “Someone ought to take Chang to court. The judge would see to him, sure ‘nuff.”
Sky’s curiosity lifted his brow. “Bogus gold? What’s that all about?”
“You ain’t heard that story, yet?” Jed motioned at Fraser with the point of his knife. “Tell ‘im, Fraser.”
Fraser twisted his mug in a circle. “Louise came to see me a couple months back. Right after the last time you came through for supplies.”
“Louise? The Nez Perce woman who brings garden produce to town to sell?”
“That’s the one.” Fraser nodded.
Sky sawed at his meat, waiting for Fraser to continue.
“Well, she brought me the gold that Chang had paid them the last time they sold to him. He’d taken small pebbles and dipped them in gold. They were only worth a fraction of their promised value. She, Jane, and Running Fawn, nearly got arrested last time they were down to Lewiston when someone there discovered the deception, but they managed to convince the authorities that they themselves had been duped. Anyhow, Louise came to me. Wanted me to go and confront Chang about it.” He stabbed a piece of rawhide-meat and stuffed it into his cheek irritably.
Sky leaned back in his chair, amazed at Chang’s gall.
He knew Lee Chang. His character was questionable at best and downright despicable at worst. He dealt in opium and women and offered no mercy when it came time to pay up for either. But this was the first he’d heard of the man being a cheat.
Max, a minor seated next to Jason, grunted. “Don’t see why she didn’t confront him herself.”
Fraser looked up. “You know Chang—he’s got his thumb on just about every individual in the county. The women are afraid that if Chang gives the say-so, all the other Chinese in the area will boycott their business. They would certainly be out of business if he did that to them.”
“Hmmph,” Jed growled, “that there Chinese is one man this here town could do ‘thout. He shorly is a cussed buzzard, that’n.”
Fraser huffed his agreement. “And do you know,” he leaned forward and pierced Sky with a look, “when I confronted him, the man had the nerve to admit to the whole thing!”
“Does he plan to make it right?”
Fraser wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chewing the food for a moment before he spoke. “Nope. He said he paid them and they accepted payment and that he hoped they would be a bit smarter next time.” He glanced around the table, knife and fork held vertically by his plate in suspended animation, then shrugged. “The man showed no remorse whatsoever. I don’t know what else I can do.” He stared back at his plate and continued to hack at the black slab that passed as a piece of meat.
“Leastwise you tried. Best you watch your back, though,” Jed added. “That Chang, he don’t cotton to no one gettin’ all up in his business.”
Jason gave a low snort from the other side of the table, and Sky looked down to the shadows at the end. His cousin shoveled another mouthful of food, then belched. Seeming to notice that everyone’s eyes were on him, he spoke. “This town would be better off if we got rid of all the Chinks. I tell you, I’ve never met a respectable Celestial. Not one. Always sneakin’ and spyin’. Lazy cusses, too.” He swiped his greasy mouth on his shoulder, the stain there proof that he did so often.
Max made no sound but nodded emphatically as he shoved a huge forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“This town wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the Chinese, Jason.” Sky kept his voice nonchalant. He picked up his glass and took a drink of water, his eyes fixed on his burly cousin over the rim.
Jason snorted again. “You always were too partial to them Celestials, Sky. If you had any sense, you’d realize the type of scum they really are.”
Sky changed the subject. “How have you been, Jason? Haven’t seen you for awhile.” His tone was friendly, but Jason glared at him.
“You been pinin’ away for information on your beloved cousin?” he asked, expression caustic.
Sky, accustomed to his cousin’s recent foul moods, shrugged and turned back to his food, praying silently that one day his relationship with Jason would be restored.
Jed’s gaze bounced between them as he squirmed in his seat. After a minute, he fixed Sky with a pointed look. “That news about Chang…well, that ain’t the only news you missed hearin’ about. You need to get to town more often.”
The venomous glare Jason sent Jed piqued Sky’s interest. “Oh yeah?” He cautiously tried a bite of potatoes. Not too bad
this time. Maybe he could smother the meat with them.
Jed’s twinkling eyes remained fixed on Jason, and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth as silence filled the room.
Sky looked to his cantankerous cousin, one eyebrow raised in question. Several of the men shifted uneasily. Everyone seemed to know what Jed was referring to except him.
Jason waved away his unspoken question with a flip of his hand.
“Aw! Ain’t you gonna tell ol’ Sky here about yer plans?”
Jason ignored Jed and scooped another bite into his mouth.
Sky turned his questioning eyes on Jed, continuing to eat calmly.
Jed spoke around a mouthful of meat. “Your cousin is soon gonna be married. Or so he’s been tellin’ it.”
Sky’s fork stopped halfway up from his plate and he blinked in surprise. What woman in her right mind would marry Jason?
Jason growled, throwing his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Jed, you wouldn’t know a secret if it bit you!” He turned belligerent eyes on Sky. “That’s right. I’ve got a mail-order bride coming in on tomorrow’s stage to Greer’s Ferry. I’m going to have me a pretty little wife to cook for me...and keep me warm at night.” He jabbed his elbow into Max’s ribs, a dissolute leer spreading on his face.
Sky set his fork down quietly. Pushing away from the table, he stood and walked over to the blackened coffee pot near the fire. Pouring himself a cup, his movements deliberate and casual, he contemplated the situation. His heart went out to the poor girl. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so surprised.
“You got a picture of this woman?” He hooked a thumb through his belt loop, watching Jason through the steam drifting up from his mug as he took a sip of coffee.
Jason gave his habitual snort. “Like I’d show it to you. Pretty little thing, though. And young, too. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.” The lewd grin was back before he stuffed a large piece of meat into his cheek.
The Joy of the Morning: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 6) Page 9
