by Barbara Goss
Sunshine in
The Rain
Barbara Goss
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All scripture is quoted from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2016 Barbara Goss
All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition
Cover design by: Samantha Fury
Dedicated to my beta reader and friend, Tammy Marie. Thank you for all your help and for lending me your sensitive nature to gage the emotional content of this book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,--you’re straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain.
Emily Dickinson.
Chapter 1
~September 30, 1878~
Abe Abernathy was chopping wood behind his cabin near Oberlin, Kansas.
William Walters, a trapper, was on his way to town to sell the pelts he had collected.
George Freeman’s family was busy erecting a building on the family’s homestead.
Eleanor Johnson was hanging clothes behind her sod home, with four children playing nearby.
Edward Smith was moving cattle to winter pastures.
No one in the community feared Indians since most were on reservations in Oklahoma. They went about their business as usual. Any Indians they’d spotted in recent months were not hostile.
Unbeknownst to the Oberlin community, two Cheyenne chiefs, Dull Knife, and Little Wolf, had escaped the Oklahoma reservation, owing to the denial of their request to leave it. They formed a band with other dissatisfied warriors, and came to express their anger.
The Baker family sat down to breakfast later than usual, as Elmer Baker had fallen from the hayloft and injured his ankle. His wife, Lorena Baker, had put Susannah, their seventeen-year-old daughter, in charge of the children, while she finished his chores.
Elmer sat at the head of the table, and soon after the food had been served, Lorena took her place opposite him. In between sat Susannah, Rebecca, Joseph, and Jeremiah. The youngest, Ella, was in her crib asleep.
Susannah sighed. The pancakes were so cold the butter refused to melt on them. Her poor mother had tried to get the meal on the table hot, but with the added work—
Susannah decided she wasn’t hungry, anyway, and she pushed her plate away.
“Susannah,” Lorena said, "if you’re done eating, I’d like you to go out to the cornfield and pick about a dozen ears of corn for our dinner.”
“All right,” she said. “Can I wear your big apron, Mama?”
“Of course, dear. It’s hanging by the back door. It will hold a dozen ears easily,” Lorena said. “When you come back, we’ll do up these dishes, and then make up the beds. Rebecca can help.”
Susannah nodded and picked up her mother’s apron adorned with a huge pocket just below the waist. She slipped it on and trotted out to the cornfield, her auburn sausage curls bobbing up and down as she ran. She squeezed between the rows and began picking the best ears of corn.
That’s where she was when it all happened.
As usual, at this time of the year, the corn was so tall, that the stalks towered over her. She’d only picked about four ears when she heard yelping, whooping, and screaming. She peeked out from between the tall rows of corn, to see Indians, about twenty of them, with their faces painted in the scariest of ways. She ducked back into the cornstalks, able to do nothing but stare as the savages ransacked her home. She cowered in fear to the sound of furniture breaking, and her mother and sisters screaming, and had to block out the horrible sound of her family being slaughtered.
Susannah cried, but she did so silently. She knew she was next if they discovered her hiding place.
Susannah had never been so petrified in her life. When they were done, the savages that had just killed her family in cold blood rode within twenty feet of where she was huddling amidst the corn. She dropped onto her stomach and hoped what little breakfast she’d eaten stayed down as they passed. She feared to even breathe, and trembled so hard that her teeth chattered, and she tried to stifle the sound, lest the savages hear it. She tried to keep her eyes tightly shut, but fearful curiosity made her open them a sliver, and she peered out through her lashes.
One Indian dropped something as he rode past where she lay. He jumped from his horse to retrieve it. She saw his wildly painted face as he bent down, and she prayed he wouldn’t look her way. When he stood, he held up his treasure—her mother’s jewelry box—which he put under his arm.
Susannah gagged silently.
The savage got back on his horse and rode to catch the others, carrying his trophy.
When the sound of horse hoofs faded, she lay frozen to her spot. She lay there shaking, crying, for she didn’t know how long. Everything suddenly seemed still—no birds sang, and no dogs barked, all she heard were the stalks of corn, blowing in the slight breeze. The scent of blood assaulted her senses and causing her to retch over and over again.
The next morning, she recognized George Franklin, their closest neighbor, as he rode past, and took in the scene. He then walked into the barn, brought out a shovel, and began digging. She watched him dig six graves—she counted them, because she wondered if they’d killed baby Ella, her helpless infant sister, too. She realized they must have.
Susannah trembled, fearful to come out of hiding. She watched as George lay each of her beloved family members to rest, sobbing harder than she could ever remember doing so before.
By the time George had finished burying her family the sun was once again setting. After scouring the area and the house, George rode off toward his own home.
Susannah lay there for the second night shivering. Thoughts of the savages coming back flooded her mind. She must have finally relaxed enough to fall asleep, because she jerked awake, reliving the horror in a dream, and let out a scream. She quickly covered her mouth, and swept the area with her frightened eyes. She let out a breath of relief when she realized no one had heard her.
Mid-morning that day, George Franklin rode over again. He seemed to be looking for something. He didn’t get off his horse, but combed the property, and then finally called out her name. When he received no answer, he turned to head in another direction. “They’re gone, Susannah,” he yelled. “If you can hear me, come out. We’ll take care of you.”
On shaking hands and knees, Susannah crawled out of the cornfield, stood, and walked cautiously toward the house and George Franklin.
George saw her approaching and dismounted. When she reached him, he held out his ar
ms, and she flew into them.
She cried so hard, trying to tell George what she'd seen from the cornfield, but she knew, by the look on his face, that she was incoherent.
He set her on his horse, jumped up behind her, and aimed his horse toward town. He told her that his family, and several others, had made it to the town hall, where the constable and several army men were guarding the building.
Chapter 2
The next few weeks were a blur for Susannah. Mr. and Mrs. Franklin had taken her in, but she was still too numb to be of much help with the housework, and there were six in the family already.
Mr. Franklin needed to find a relative to take care of Susannah.
He approached her one day as she sat beneath a large oak tree, staring into space.
“Susannah, I went through your family’s chest, and I found some important papers— The deed to your land, a bank account, and the name of a man named Harry Boulanger. Do you know who he is?”
Susannah continued to stare into space and nodded, causing her curls to bounce.
“Who is he?” George asked.
“My M…Mother’s cousin,” she said. “I miss my family so much!” Then she began to cry hysterically. ”
“I’m sorry, Susannah, but I have to do this. I have the address of Mr. Boulanger. He lives in Hays, and I’m going to take you there tomorrow, all right?” he asked.
She nodded, wiped her tears with her handkerchief, and blew her nose. So many times she'd tried to forget what had happened that day, to try to erase the scene she’d witnessed, and the sounds she’d heard, but she could not.
George walked back into the house. Susannah followed. She wanted to lie down for a while. Just hearing Boulanger’s name mentioned brought on fresh tears. She couldn’t remember having ever met him, but she’d heard her parents speak of him. They liked him, but she remembered that he'd married someone her parents didn’t care for, and she was the reason her parents didn’t see them. She stopped in the entryway and heard George and his wife, Wilma, talking.
“Boulanger is her mother’s cousin, she says,” George told his wife.
“So, are you taking her to him, then?” Wilma asked.
“First thing in the morning. We can’t have her nightmares waking up the children every night, Wilma,” he said.
“I know, but the poor girl. She’s been through so much. Maybe we should wait until we know what sort of person this Boulanger is,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter,” George said. “He’s family.”
“I hope he’s a good and kind person,” she said.
“Someone’s got to take care of the land, bank accounts, and personal papers, and I don’t think Susannah is capable right now.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Wilma conceded, and then nodded at the doorway where Susannah was standing.
George turned. “Ah, Susannah. Come in, dear. Have you ever met Mr. Boulanger?”
“No,” she said.
“Well, if he’s your family,” George said. “I’m sure he’ll take care of you and your family’s estate. Wilma went over to the house yesterday and grabbed all the clothing that looked like it belonged to you, and some personal possessions that were still in the house. We’ve packed them up for you in a small carpetbag.”
Wilma put her arm around Susannah. “Do you want to go to the house and see if there’s anything else in there that you want?”
“No!” Susannah cried.
“All right. No problem,” Wilma soothed quickly. “I think I got most of it.”
Susannah ran into the curtained-off section that formed her makeshift bedroom, lay down on the bed, and cried. She couldn’t get past the horrors she’d witnessed, or the loss of everyone in the world she loved. The faces of her loved ones often danced before her eyes making her cry even harder. How did people expect her to act after losing everyone she had in the world as well as witnessing the whole attack?
And now she was going to be sent to live with strangers.
George checked the paper in his hand and slowed his wagon. “Thirty-two, Vine Street; I think this is it,” he said.
“Wait here, Susannah,” he ordered.
Susannah watched as he stood in the doorway, talking to another man. George kept pointing back at her. After a while, George came out, and took her valise and carpetbag from the back of the wagon. He gave them to the man at the door, and then came back for her, helped her down from the wagon, and walked her to the door.
Just put one foot in front of the other, Susannah told herself. It will be all right. There are no savages here. What else could possibly hurt her? All she had to do was to smile and do as they said.
“Susannah, this is your cousin Harry Boulanger. He’s going to take you in until you marry,” George said.
“Welcome, Susannah. I’m sorry about what happened,” Harry said. “Your mother and I—”
Susannah began to cry again.
George gently pushed her into the house, tipped his hat, went back out to his wagon, and sped away, as if he were well rid of her.
Susannah looked around the small, cluttered kitchen.
“Susannah, I want you to meet my wife.”
“Here she is, Martha!” he yelled.
A woman wearing a scowl came into the kitchen from another room. She nodded at her, without a smile.
“How long’s this gonna be for?” she asked her husband, with a frown.
Susannah shrank inside herself.
Harry shrugged. “Martha, she’s family.” He lifted up the carpetbag. “The man who brought her said there are business papers in this bag. Why don’t you show her to her room, while I check through them.”
Martha nodded, and motioned for Susannah to follow. She led her down a dark hall to a small, closet-like room. “This is only a small house. Our twelve-year-old son, Edwin, has the room over there.” She pointed. “And the one next to yours is our room. We use this room for storage.
“Can you talk?” Martha asked.
Susannah nodded and then burst into tears.
“There, there,” Martha said without feeling. “You go in, and rest.”
Susannah walked into the room and sat on the bed. Martha shut her door. Susannah listened to her footsteps as they retreated down the hall toward the kitchen.
Susannah looked around the dusty room. Her family might not have been wealthy, but they’d been clean. The only window was barely transparent, the corners of the hardwood floor were dirt encrusted, and the floor showed her footprints as she walked through the door to the bed. Boxes and crates lined the walls, covered in faded green and yellow wallpaper, on one side of the room. The corners of the ceiling hosted cobwebs with living inhabitants. Her family had lived in a mud house with a dirt floor, yet it had been kept spotless. She looked at the bed. The linens looked clean enough until she touched her pillow, and dust flew into the air. She sat on the bed and wept. She felt alone and empty, and she wished she’d have died along with her family.
This room did nothing to help her mental condition. She opened the door, ran out of the room, down the hall, and out of the house. She ran down the street as fast as she could. She had no idea where she was going, but she felt like if she ran far enough and fast enough, she'd be able to escape everything.
Martha Boulanger watched Susannah sprint out of the house. Harry moved to catch her, but Martha pulled him back. “Let her go. We have all we need from her.” She held up the bank statement, the deed to the Bakers’ property outside of Oberlin, and several pieces of heirloom jewelry.
“No!” Harry yelled at his wife. “Her mother and my mother were sisters. I can’t let any harm come to her.” He shook his arm free from his wife’s and ran after Susannah.
Susannah ran until she felt a severe pain at her side. She didn’t know how far she’d run, but she slowed, and looked around. She was on a street where the houses were more expensive than the houses on her cousin’s street. She looked all around her, unsure of which way to turn, when some sma
ll bit of reason settled in her mind, and she turned back the way she’d came. That house was unbearable, but it was with family, her only surviving family. She hadn’t anywhere else to go.
She’d have to return and make the best of it.
She could clean the room. It wouldn't change her situation, but at least it would be a start. She walked back, following the same, straight route. On the way back, she met a frantic Harry Boulanger
“Susannah,” he said, breathlessly, “are you okay?”
She nodded. Harry's breathing was rapid and rasping, and he started to cough. He coughed all the way back to the house.
Martha met them at the door, her hands poised on her hips. “You oughtn’t to run like that with your asthma, Harry. She’d a come back. Where else could she go?”
Harry nodded.
Susannah sped back to the room they’d given her.
She spent quite a bit of time cleaning the room over the next week, seeing as how she figured it would be hers for quite some time to come, so she might as well make it bearable. Susannah was never invited to take meals with the family at the dinner table—Martha served Susannah meals in her room instead.
Susannah washed her own linens in a bucket behind the house, cleaned the cobwebs, swept and mopped the floors, and washed the window so she'd be able to see outside.
Harry sometimes knocked on the door, stuck his head in, and asked if she was all right, and she simply nodded at him. She felt as if he might have wanted to do more for her, but his wife seemed to overrule his good intentions.
Often, when the weather was warm, she’d sit beneath the tree in the backyard. The family next door to the Boulangers had two young boys who often played in the yard, but Susannah ignored them, leaned back against the tree and stared into space.
Susannah's bed was against the wall beside Harry and Martha's bedroom, and she often heard them talking, in their room, at night. She heard Martha explain that she didn’t want Susannah at the family table because she was always crying, and it was liable to upset Edwin.
