by Annie Boone
If you want to find out how Susannah helps another young woman change her life and meet the man of her dreams, turn the page for a sneak peek!
Christina and Mitchell Preview
Christina
It was a busy afternoon, and there probably wouldn’t be enough potatoes. Christina Bristol blew a strand of hair from her face and tied off a full sack before shifting it to her left. There, it sat on the wagon’s edge and waited for her Uncle Michael to come pick it up.
“How are you doing over here?” He arrived with a grin. “And I need three more.”
“Three?” She shook her head in disbelief and moved hurriedly to shift the boxes around to grab more. “Uncle! We’re down to five boxes. I knew we should have brought the last ten. Didn’t I say that? We could have sold them and I know they’re still green, but it would have been a profit. Why didn’t I put them on the wagon?”
Chuckling, the man stroked his beard and winked as he took the bags. “Because, dear, they wouldn’t fit in the wagon. You know, we’re finishing up but we could still use some help in the front of our stall. Why don’t you join your mother and start counting the change?”
The smile froze on her face as she was in the middle of shifting the boxes around. She could feel her jaw lock and Christina glanced around. It was a sunny day in the middle of winter at the town market. At this time of the year there wasn’t much for sale out here. But thanks to a few savvy tricks and a lot of hard work and commitment, they managed to have potatoes year around.
And though it was cold, there were still plenty of townsfolk out and about. People were talking and laughing and wandering everywhere. She recognized several faces. Now the idea of going out there made her stomach ache.
“I don’t know,” she began hesitantly. “These sacks need to be filled, and I’m not that good at counting. I’m sure Mother is doing fine without me.” She looked down at her hands. They were ungloved to better handle the potatoes and knew folks wouldn’t take kindly to them. They may not take kindly to her, either.
His gaze drifted down to her hands, too. He took both her hands and squeezed them with a grin so big it stretched from ear to ear. “Nonsense. A little fresh air will do you good. Don’t you worry about anyone. They don’t know what they’re saying most of the time anyway. Fill that sack and come help me take these to the Jeffersons, won’t you?”
The man was as friendly as he was stubborn. Christina obeyed and found herself climbing out of the wagon and into the sunlight. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she glanced around, squinting in the brightness. It was a lovely day, she acknowledged, and it would have been silly to let it pass her by untouched.
“All right,” she took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Where is the Jefferson wagon?” She hefted her sack in her arms up, taking a deep breath as she looked around the area. After five steps out in the open, she could already feel the itch across her skin and the tingle on her spine.
Ignore it, she told herself. It doesn’t matter. Biting her tongue, Christina kept her gaze down and stared at the steps her uncle took as he stomped along. She copied, following in his steps to keep down the effort of creating a new path in the snow. Even then it was a struggle, and Christina tried her best to keep up with him.
“Here you are,” Uncle Michael proclaimed loudly. “This should last you for a while. All those kids of yours will be fed quite nicely, I think. If you need any new ideas of how to use these potatoes, my Ruby has a few good recipes she’d be happy to share with you. She’s quite inventive with potatoes, that woman!”
Mrs. Jefferson had been moving things around in their small cart, one with two wheels instead of four and it held very little. Her husband was ready to pay, and she turned to them with a big smile that faded when she noticed the younger woman.
Christina’s stomach dropped as well and immediately she ducked her head, turning it ever so slightly hoping her hair would fall down as a drape to hide her face. Holding up the sack higher than before, she used it as a barrier and peace offering. Mrs. Jefferson’s face tightened like she’d smelled something foul as she snatched the bag away from her. “Wonderful,” she scowled. “These’ll need an extra wash. Just in the cart, Mr. Ennis. That will be all.”
Christina shoved her hands into her coat pockets and turned away, moving as fast as she could without running. As Uncle Michael said farewell she returned to their stall. Heat climbed up her neck and spread across her cheeks as she kept her head low, and found herself bumping into her mother.
The tall willowy blonde grabbed her arm. “There you are, Christina. We could use your help. Do you mind picking up five pounds of pork at the butcher’s?” Jane Bristol was a beauty even though she was in her late thirties. Men still watched her in the street and she could charm her way through nearly anything. There was little, clearly, that Christina had in common with her mother.
The woman had told her she took after her father, in looks and gentle manners. It would have been nice, perhaps, if he had been around to prove this. But at the looks Christina received as she clutched the money in her hands and walked down the street, she wasn’t certain having here would be good. The two of them would never have been welcome in this town even with Jane to protect them.
Unable to deny her mother anything, Christina ducked her head again and grudgingly headed down the street. The afternoon was windy and blew her coal-black hair all about. She considered tying it into a comfortable braid, but they would still judge her whether it blew around her face or was shaved off.
“Just look at her,” she heard children murmuring by the schoolhouse. “The strange one. She’s not one of us.”
“Where did she come from? I heard she was raised by bears.”
Christina started to walk faster, further down the street. But the wind was strong and it still carried the voices her way. “You can’t trust people like her. They aren’t really people. They’re savages.”
“Mother says she isn’t allowed to play with fire, in case she burns their house down. And Father said she talks to horses. Just like the Apache. The Apache are devils, and so is she.”
That one caught her breath. Her stomach churned and she felt the bile trying to rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down and kept walking. Almost there, Christina told herself, she was almost there.
It was only down the road but it felt like it took forever. She hadn’t realized how shallow her breath was until she stepped inside and inhaled deeply. Her head felt light as she blinked in the dimness and glanced around.
The shop was small and there were only two other people there besides herself and the owner, Maryn. He was talking to the other two men, and shot her a curt glance as she entered. She tried to wave for attention but he turned away. Her relief was short-lived. “Ex-excuse me?” She asked politely. “Hello?” She cleared her throat and tried to speak louder each time. “Excuse me? Might I make a purchase? Please?”
Once her voice was louder, Maryn didn’t have a choice. But he wasn’t happy about having to acknowledge her. “I’m trying to have a conversation. Can’t you see that?”
She took an involuntary step backwards. With a shaky breath, she knew she wouldn’t have any support from the other two men staring at her. It made her uncomfortable and her palms began to sweat. The heat rose to her cheeks but she didn’t know what to do about it. She never did, no matter how often this happened.
“I’m sorry, but I’m in need of some pork. It’s for my uncle.” She hesitated, worried they wouldn’t give her the right amount again. The butcher had shorted her and taken her money last time. “Five pounds, please.”
Maryn scoffed but he took the sale, snatching the money as he handed over the meat. He gave no inclination that he was going to give her the change due and she didn’t know what to do. So, she just left. With the pork wrapped up under her arm, Christina hurried back into the cold. This time the streets were empty and so her walk back to the market and her family was pleasant.
“There
you are,” Jane began but started to cough. It was a thick one, and Christina’s smile slipped as she patted her mother’s back in concern. She hadn’t heard anything so terrible in a while, and she glanced around for some water when it suddenly stopped. Her mother chuckled, patting her chest. “I’m sorry about that. I think I’ve had too much fresh air today. Now, did you get the meat?”
Nodding, Christina gave her mother a tight smile. “Yes, I did. There wasn’t any change, I’m afraid.”
“No? Strange. Perhaps things are tight for Maryn,” Jane mused, and turned to her sister. Ruby was shorter than Christina, and shrugged. “How strange, and I thought his business was booming. Winter is always a difficult season, however. Thank you, Christina. I think we’re done for the day, Ruby. Shall we pack up?”
Soon they were on their way home. Christina sat on an empty box in the back, watching the town grow smaller in the distance as she rested against her mother’s shoulder. Her mother nudged her. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s wrong, Christina?”
She bit her lip, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “Oh, it’s nothing, Mother. I was just thinking, well, wondering actually. Was Father an Apache? I know you don’t like talking about him,” Christina straightened and moved on quickly. “I was just wondering because I heard them saying things. You said he was a good man and I’m not sure what to believe.”
Jane squeezed her arm firmly. The concerned expression made the girl bite her tongue and she swallowed hard. “What did they say? Christina, oh, I wish you wouldn’t listen to them. But it’s not your fault. It’s not yours, nor your father’s fault. People can be so cruel, they don’t know what they’re saying.” She brushed the hair from Christina’s face. “No, your father wasn’t an Apache. He was Souix, as a matter of fact. And a gentleman, no matter what they say.”
Christina looked at her mother and blinked, trying to understand it all.
“I don’t talk about him because it hurts. Oh, but I do wish you could have met him. He’d have loved you so much.” Christina’s mother inhaled deeply. “Folks might think they’re good people but wearing the newest bonnets means nothing if they aren’t charitable on the inside. A person’s outward appearance doesn’t matter as much as what’s in their hearts.”
The wagon came to a stop and they were home. Jane grabbed her daughter’s hand before they moved. “Christina, I’m very proud of the young woman you’ve become. You’re a wonderful, wise, and beautiful girl.”
“If I’m so beautiful, why don’t they accept me?”
“The right people will accept you,” her mother assured her. “Trust in God, and you’ll find the love you deserve. Besides me, of course.” She chuckled, and kissed her daughter’s head. “Now let’s go inside.”
She coughed deeply as they clambered out of the wagon and cleaned up the boxes before heading inside. At first Christina thought nothing of that, but by the end of the week her mother could hardly stand up without a coughing fit.
Mitchell
“Whoa, there!” Mitchell pulled on his horse’s reins to bring them to a stop. Standing straight up in the saddle, the tall man looked about warily. He thought he’d seen some movement, but couldn’t be certain. Glancing at the horse, he watched his head turn and his ears flick. Until they stopped, and the horse pawed the ground impatiently, ready to move again. “Are you certain?” he asked his horse with a chuckle. “Well, if you say so. Hiyah!”
The Appaloosa was young and loved the wide-open country. It was the middle of winter but the sun had been out and melted much of the snow in the last two days. He loosened the reins and leaned in, letting the animal take the lead as they headed down the trail. It was good for the horse to stretch his legs and get a feel for the ground below them.
With the sharp chill in the air, his eyes watered as they sped over the land. But he didn’t mind, used to the cold. Granted, he allowed, it was still colder than he thought it would be. And they said the worst of winter was already over. Yet if the town of Rocky Ridge could survive a Colorado winter every year, so could he.
It was a nice town, even nicer than Colorado Springs and Boston combined. Mitchell and his horse followed the path through the avenue and they rounded the last of herd in the east before making it back to Harrison. The old man was slumped in his saddle, smoking and humming some old song as he glanced about warily.
“Any sign of them Injuns?” Harrison grumbled.
Mitchell shook his head. “Of course not. They aren’t what we need to worry about. We just need to make sure our horns stay with the herd this time around.”
With a heavy sigh, the man tugged on his scarf and pulled it up over his mouth. His thick mustache was tinged with white frost. Shaking his head, the old man grumbled something under his breath. Mitchell raised his eyebrow at the man who made a face and turned his horse to the side. His muffled voice was louder this time. “You can take a break. Go to town, do what you want. Just get out of here. I got the herd for the evening.”
“Watch by yourself?” Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise. Besides, there’s no reason for me to go into town. I don’t know what I would do there anyway.”
But the man was obstinate. “The twins are headed back any minute and will help me keep watch for the night. You’ve been working mornings, nights, everything. At least take the rest of the day off. Then you can sleep with the cows for all I care. But right now, you’re not working.”
For a minute, Mitchell considered arguing. Why, if he needed to, he could take the old man. He was tough and good with a gun, but the other man hadn’t wrestled or been in a fight in years. Just as his fists were clenching, the younger man realized he was being ridiculous. Harrison was trying to be generous by giving him some time away from the trail. “Fine,” he muttered, and turned his horse away.
Their enthusiasm dampened as they headed into town, the man and his ride. He wandered through the streets, keeping his head low and his collar high. Rocky Ridge was small, but it was spread out and full of vibrant colors. If there was any nice place on Earth, Mitchell decided, this could be it. But all the same, he didn’t think testing the limits would be the best move.
A mercantile caught his eye, and that reminded him he needed some buttons. Grudgingly he brought the horse to a stop, and climbed down. Mitchell carefully eyed his surroundings, making sure he and his horse wouldn’t have a reason for leaving in a hurry. “Stay put,” he ordered, and was just grabbing his hat to put it back on his head when he caught sight of two children with their mother passing him on the street.
It would have been an ordinary sight had the boy not suddenly dropped his mouth wide open with a stare. Mitchell met his gaze, and he felt the slight glimmer of excitement of being in town fade away. Even after all this time, no matter where he went, some things just never changed. Staring wasn’t necessarily mean and not even a crime, but it had a way of tying his stomach in knots and making him feel ashamed.
Turning up his collar again, he pulled the hat back down and looked away. That way, Mitchell’s face would be completely hidden from the boy’s view. A moment later, he could hear the mother talking to her children, telling them to move along. Soon they were gone, and it was as though it had never happened. Almost.
Mitchell thought seriously about turning around. He didn’t really need to be here. But he was right there at the shop, and he knew he needed to get it over with. In and out, he told himself, and all would be fine. Then he’d back on the job where he belonged. His team knew him and accepted him as he was.
Still, he kept the hat on when he stepped inside. For a moment, he stood quietly and took in the cinnamon scent and enjoyed being somewhere else besides a campfire site with his countrymen. Sometimes he forgot how nice it could be when people settled down. Moving around in the store, Mitchell leaned down and traced a glove over a few ribbons. Perhaps he could get a few for his mother?
He stopped. It had happened again. He dropped his hand and moved away. It was the one thing he
had enjoyed about going into towns during the cattle drives over the years. The ability to always find something new to send to his mother back in Boston was a treat. He’d left home when he was sixteen, and liked to find little gifts to mail so she knew he hadn’t forgotten her.
But just about a year ago, she’d grown sick and he’d lost her. His mother didn’t need ribbons in Heaven.
“They’re pretty nice, eh? Better than what you can find in Colorado Springs, any day.” A voice sounded beside him, and Mitchell froze. Another man, a few years older than himself, looked at him with a grin as he picked up a spool. “Do you think this is pink enough?”
Mitchell didn’t understand him for a minute. “I, um, I suppose.” Shifting his weight onto the other foot, he shrugged hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t know.”
The man laughed, making his hat only sit more crookedly than before on his head. “Neither would I. I always tell Eleanor if she really insists on me going out to make the purchases, she needs to be happy with what I bring home. That is, unless she isn’t happy and that’s when I come back and trade things out,” he winked. “I’m Matthew, by the way. Matthew Connor. How are you?”
Shaking his hand, Mitchell waited for the inevitable moment of staring, but the man hardly seemed to notice. “Hello. I’m Mitchell. Mitch Powell.”
“Good to meet you,” Matthew tipped his hat with a grin and after a moment of glancing at the options, he traded the spool for a softer pink. “This should do,” he proclaimed after inspecting it carefully. “That way, if little Susie tries putting her ribbons on my cattle again, then they’ll still look mighty fine.” And he laughed like it was a joke, slapping his knee.
“You work a herd here?” Mitchell glanced around curiously. “Where’s your spread? I didn’t think there was a lot out here.”
Matthew shrugged. “Oh, there’s plenty. This part of town, that’s only half the folks. Now my place is a little closer towards Colorado Springs, so I don’t come this way too often. But there’s plenty of space in these hereabouts. You just passing through?”
