Journey of the Heart

by Mills, DiAnn; Darty, Peggy;

  Lone Eagle…he admitted to being tormented by spirits since the afternoon with Peyton. The warrior tasted defeat by a power he didn’t know existed. Katie remembered the hatred in his eyes and the bitterness in his voice. He wanted to kill her for the humiliation she had caused. He had administered immense suffering and slow agonizing torment to others, but he stood defenseless before a mighty God.

  For an instant, Katie had seen a flicker of the warrior she once loved. Pity ruled her heart, for he forced himself to deny any feelings of caring or compassion. Fortunately she read more in his eyes than he could ever confess. Perhaps Desert Fawn would tell him about God.

  Katie squinted and viewed an outline of Fort Davis. She focused her attention on Black Mountain and Wild Rose Pass. Such a refuge for those who needed a haven in the midst of a troubled territory. She clearly recognized the cultural differences between her own people and the Indian. In many ways, the battle over the land was unfair. For as many Indians who vowed to rid the territory of the whites, there were hundreds and thousands more whites to come. The weaker would concede to slaughter and be driven from their homes, and that would be the Indians.

  Jeremiah Colter had permitted Katie to see both worlds. He left a legacy of love and compassion to a child he loved as his own. An adopted people, and an adopted daughter. He wanted Katie to find her rehoboth, a well of blessings and peace in a place provided by God. Katie couldn’t have asked for more from any father.

  A sensation of being watched or followed nudged her. She tugged at the horse and paused to look around. Several feet behind her she surveyed the figure of Lone Eagle sitting proud and erect upon his horse. She would never fully understand the Comanche warrior. She lifted her hand and waved good-bye.

  Chapter Twenty

  Peyton moved slowly about the fort, fulfilling his duties while his heart ached for Katie. Guilt assaulted him for riding to safety that day, only to find Katie’s horse was riderless. Lone Eagle had taken her from him. He’d won. Peyton had turned his horse to go back, but Miles had grabbed the bridle.

  “Peyton, you’re hurt. You can’t help her now.”

  “I can’t let that killer have her.”

  Miles face saddened. “There’s nothing any of us can do.”

  Many times, Peyton wished he’d died. What kind of life did he have without her?

  What had Lone Eagle done to her? Was she still alive?

  Colonel Ross had forbidden him to leave the fort, and soldiers watched to ensure the orders were carried out. But tonight he planned to leave. If he was killed in finding Katie, at least he’d have done his best to save her.

  “Sergeant Sinclair,” a soldier called from his post looking over the valley.

  Peyton looked up from his position below. “Yes, soldier.”

  “Rider headin’ this way, sir. Can’t make out who it is.”

  Folks were jumpy and irritable with the Comanches raiding and murdering every chance they took. “One of the scouts?” He winced, momentarily forgetting his wound. The shoulder throbbed, the second time it had been injured.

  “No, sir. It’s an Indian…no, it’s a white woman dressed in Indian clothes.”

  “Open the gate.” Peyton hurried toward the fort’s entrance.

  “What if it’s a trap?” the soldier said.

  Peyton smiled broadly. “Then I welcome it.”

  Clutching his wounded shoulder, Peyton rushed through the gate. The pounding of his boots against the earth started a throb up and down his arm, but the pain would not hold him back. It had to be Katie; no one else could fit that description. Once he saw her blond hair around her shoulders, he ran. Tears of relief and joy stung his eyes. Katie was alive and nothing else mattered to him.

  Her horse broke into a slow gallop until it reached his side. She slid to the ground, crying and calling his name. The purple bruise on the side of her face infuriated him. He reached to touch it gingerly as though she might break.

  “Are you all right?” Peyton peered into her face.

  Katie smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, Peyton, only my face. He wanted to—Lone Eagle wanted to kill me, but he couldn’t. God stopped him, and Lone Eagle sent me back to you.”

  Again Peyton searched her face and slipped his fingers through her hair. “God brought you back to me.” He drew her close until his lips touched hers.

  “Are you ready, Katie child?” Papa called.

  Katie emerged from the evening shadows of Papa and Elizabeth’s room, where she had dressed for the wedding. A smile spread across his face.

  “You take my breath away,” he said. “You are your mother, Katherine Grace Colter, a beautiful angel. I hope Peyton realizes how precious you are to me.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Katie lifted her face to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I love you so very much.”

  Elizabeth dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. She reached to Katie’s shoulder and adjusted a row of pearls.

  “My wedding dress is so beautiful,” Katie whispered through sparkling eyes. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.” She touched the ivory satin gown that hugged her slender waist and flared to the floor.

  “Hannah and Mary both wore it, and someday your own daughter will wear it on her wedding day,” Elizabeth said. “And I have something else for you. Since you decided to wear your hair down, I thought you might like this.” She placed a wreath of dried wild roses into Katie’s hand.

  “It’s so lovely,” Katie said and swallowed her emotion. “And so perfect. When did you make this?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Katie, you have been so busy with the wedding that it was really quite simple. Now, I’m not finished. I know you wanted to carry your Bible, so I decorated it for you.”

  Papa handed Katie her Bible adorned with additional dried roses and white ribbons nestled in a crocheted doily.

  Katie held her breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you will do just fine,” Elizabeth said. “What a fine day for a wedding.”

  “I look so grand. Oh, do put the wreath in my hair.”

  Elizabeth fastened the rose wreath with two hairpins and stood back to admire the bride. “Let me give you one last hug before you become Mrs. Peyton Sinclair.”

  Katie embraced her with love in her touch. Oh, how God had blessed her life. He’d performed one miracle after another, and she knew no end to her joy.

  Papa placed Katie’s coat around her shoulders and fastened the first button. “I can’t have my little girl taking cold, now can I?” He stood back and gave her one last look before reaching out to link his daughter’s arm into his. “I am blessed richly to see you marry. Let’s not keep Peyton waiting any longer.”

  In the twilight shadows, many people waited outside the small church. Such dear friends had come to see Sergeant Peyton Sinclair wed Katie Colter. A nervous twinge tickled her stomach as she smiled and nodded at those watching her pass by. Already there were voices from inside the church, indicating that it was full. Stepping into the doorway, she slipped off her coat and handed it to Elizabeth.

  “I want Peyton to see me without this,” she whispered. Smiling from her heart to her face, Katie caught a glimpse of the room where she would become Mrs. Peyton Sinclair. “Oh my,” she said, trembling. “Everything is so beautiful.”

  Candles flickered in metal braces hung from wooden poles and lining both sides of the center aisle and the sides of the church. Dried wild rose bouquets were gathered with white ribbons and tied to candlesticks at the front of the church.

  “I’m not worthy of this,” she said. “Papa, I’ve never done a thing to deserve such a beautiful wedding.”

  He patted her hand. “Yes, you have, child. If I name them all, then I’ll cry like Elizabeth.”

  Peyton entered through the side door of the church and took his place alongside Reverend Cooper. She could see the smile upon his lips, and it lifted her heart.

  A soldier began to play his fiddle—a soft, sweet tune unknown to Ka
tie. Slowly she and Papa walked down front to greet Reverend Cooper and Peyton.

  The reverend opened his Bible.

  “Heavenly Father, as You have ordained marriage as a holy estate, we humbly ask Your blessings upon this man and this woman as they stand before You to pledge their love. As You have commanded, a man shall leave his father and mother and cling to his wife, and they shall be one flesh.

  “Into this holy estate this man and this woman come now to be united. If anyone, therefore, can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or forever hold his peace.”

  Reverend Cooper paused, looked out over the crowd, and smiled. He turned to Peyton.

  “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Peyton’s voice boomed over the quiet crowd. “I will.”

  Thank You, Lord, for delivering me unto You, and for this man.

  Reverend Cooper gave Katie his attention.

  “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Katie wanted to shout, but her voice failed her. “I will.”

  “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  “Her father.” Papa placed Katie’s right hand into Peyton’s and gave her one last kiss on her cheek.

  Katie felt the firm grasp of Peyton’s hand and his gentle squeeze. She turned to smile, meeting warm gray pools of endless love. Reverend Cooper’s voice boomed out over the crowd as he read God’s directions for a Christ-centered marriage.

  As Peyton repeated his vows, she clung to every word, determined to remember the sound of his promise forever.

  When Katie’s turn came, emotion laced her voice, and she struggled to keep the tears from trickling down her face. Her hand trembled as Peyton slipped a gold band on her finger.

  “God Almighty send you His light and truth to keep you all the days of your life. The hand of God protect you. His holy angels accompany you. May the Lord cause His grace to be mighty upon you. Amen.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the reverend said. “Peyton, you may kiss your bride.”

  Months later

  Colonel Ross walked outside his office with Peyton. He extended his hand to the young man before him.

  “Well, you are officially a civilian now,” the colonel said. “I wish I could convince you to stay. The army needs good men like you.”

  “Thanks, Colonel, but I’m heading home to Illinois. Katie has everything packed, and we’re leaving with the supply wagons in the morning. I’m mighty grateful for the army escort.”

  “Glad to help. You take care of yourself and that fine wife of yours,” the colonel said. “What are your plans?”

  “I’m planning to finish medical school,” Peyton said. “A few years back I wanted nothing to do with it, but times change. Now that I’m going to be a father, I want the best for my family.”

  Colonel Ross grinned. “I’m expecting you and Katie to write when the baby is born.”

  “Most certainly. You will probably hear me shouting all the way from Illinois.”

  Katie Sinclair watched her husband walk away from Colonel Ross, his discharge papers in hand. God is good. He gave me life, a spirit of truth, a loving husband, and my rehoboth.

  DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She combines unforgettable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels.

  Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol Award contests. Library Journal presented her with a Best Books 2014: Genre Fiction award in the Christian Fiction category for Firewall.

  DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers; the 2015 president of the Romance Writers of America’s Faith, Hope & Love chapter; and a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, as well as International Thriller Writers. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

  DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers on any of the social media platforms listed at www.diannmills.com.

  Prologue

  Morning Dove crept through the inky darkness to the tall red rocks and gazed into the valley below. The smoldering embers of a campfire gave a feeble glow to the circle of wagons. As Morning Dove’s dark eyes moved over the sleeping camp, she thought of the palefaces and the evil spirit they had brought upon Ute land. Her eyes burned with anger.

  Her anger was quickly tempered, however, by the gentle breath of the sleeping baby in her arms. Slowly, her eyes dropped to the child, and she lifted the rabbit skin and peered impassively into the face of the newborn girl. New fear thundered in her heart as she stared at the pale face, as pale as the moon overhead.

  She had brought shame and disgrace to her people. This was not a cherished Ute whose birth would have been a joyous occasion. No warrior had brought firewood to her lodge in her final days. Nor had she gone to the birthing lodge where she could kneel on a straw-covered mat for the birth. Instead, she had fled to a secret cave when the ravaging pains began. She had begged the Great Spirit for death, but death had not come; instead, she had given birth to a healthy baby. Afterward, she had hobbled to the icy mountain stream to bathe herself and the baby; then she had wrapped her in a rabbit skin and crept to the high red rocks. She had intended to offer the baby to the Great Spirit to purge her sin, but when she reached the jagged rocks, she had spotted the wagons in the valley, which sparked a new thought in her mind.

  As she stood gazing at the settlers’ wagons, Morning Dove’s mind drifted back to happier days when the Utes had roamed the land freely, from the bubbling springs to the open plains. But then the palefaces had come, over Ute trails and across Ute valleys, their greedy eyes seeking the buffalo and the beaver, their careless axes felling the big cottonwoods for reckless fires that blazed high in the night skies.

  Tears filled her dark eyes as she recalled the evil man—the strong, fair-skinned man with his hairy face and eyes the color of the forest pine. Her search for piñon nuts had led her into their camp, and too late, she had remembered the warning of her brother, Black Hawk, who had cared for her since the death of their parents in the Winter of No Sun.

  The man who rode the white magic dog had motioned to her, holding out a shiny wristband of silver. He had dropped down from the magic dog, speaking in a strange tongue. Curiosity chased the fear from Morning Dove’s brain. Her moccasined feet stilled as he approached. Then his green eyes changed; his lips turned downward. She sensed danger, and she turned to run. But it was too late….

  A deep, wrenching sigh shook her now as she stared at the wagons. She suddenly knew what she must do. She would return the baby to its people, the nation of palefaces. But life would not be easy for the child—she was neither Ute nor paleface. Morning Dove’s eyes lifted to the sky, again seeking guidance from the Great Spirit. She prayed for the baby girl’s life, that somehow she might survive in the strange world to which she was going. The little squaw must have a spirit that would sing even when it suffered. Like her own spirit, like the name she had been given: Morning Dove. In her heart, the baby girl would always be Little Dove.

  With new resolve, she began to pick her way down the rocky path leading to the valley of wagons. Soon the sun would set fire to the mountain of rocks; soon the palefaces would build their morning fires. Her steps quickened.

  One wagon was swathed in darkness far
from the fire and the guard. This would be the wagon she would choose for Little Dove. Her feet inched forward as drumbeats of fear pounded in her chest, and her stomach heaved as if she had drunk firewater. Still she pushed on, moving like a wispy shadow that melted into the darkness of night as she crouched to place the baby beside the rear wheel of the wagon.

  She knelt, removing the blanket from her own shoulders to make a bed for the baby. Gently, she took the tiny bundle from the rabbit skin, and she began to whimper. That was good; it was what she wanted. She pinched the tiny foot until the whimper became a stronger cry of protest. Morning Dove turned and fled through the darkness as the cry sharpened to a high, thin wail.

  She did not look back until she reached the high red rocks. Below her, the camp sprang to life as the small and distant cry of the baby filled the night.

  She crossed her arms over her shivering shoulders and hesitated one last time to glance downward. The pale yellow flame of lanterns wavered in the darkness as loud voices drowned out the baby’s cry.

  As she watched the baby being lifted from the ground, Morning Dove’s body began to tremble even harder in the biting cold. She had not wanted the baby who could bring evil to her village, yet her body had nourished it. And her heartbeat had quickened when she felt it move within her. In a strange way, she had relished the new life, and now she felt as though a piece of her soul had been torn from her and cast into the night, into the arms of the strange palefaces.

  For a few more seconds, she stood as still as a spirit, watching the distant camp…and the sadness in her soul carved a trail of tears down her frozen cheeks.