This Savage Heart
The Souls Aflame Series
Book Two
by
Patricia Hagan
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ISBN: 978-1-94783-333-3
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Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Meet the Author
Dedication
For my nephews, David Hagan and Dwain Hagan, with love.
Chapter 1
The soft gray mist rose eerily from the churning river, creating the illusion of ghostly creatures writhing in the throes of a mystical dance, whipped into frenzy by the chilling January winds. Darkness was fast engulfing the Texas plains like a giant black hand.
Myles Marshall stood on the riverbank, a worried frown furrowed deep in his forehead as he watched the horses straining to pull the wagon through the ripping current.
They had begun the crossing at first light, twenty-seven wagons lined up, and it was already late afternoon. As feared, the winds had picked up furiously, whipping the water into a churning frenzy, making the crossing even more precarious. An hour earlier, a wagon had tipped over and been swept downriver, its occupants—Sajem Holland, his wife, Eritha, and their children—barely saved from drowning. The wagon had disappeared into the seething foam, along with the four horses pulling it. There had not been time to cut the horses free.
Threatening clouds taunted them, portending a dangerous storm, probably by dawn. They had to have all the wagons across by sunset, and three still remained. There were two Conestogas, Myles's and Elisa Thatcher's, and a smaller wagon belonging to Myles's sister, Julie.
Myles turned and looked at his wife, who was sitting on the wagon's wooden seat, holding the reins and trying to stop her hands from trembling with cold and fear. Their eyes met over the team of six horses, and she smiled confidently. As always, Myles's whole being was filled with love for the tiny, courageous woman he had married in late August, just after the wagon train left Savannah.
Myles knew himself blessed. No matter the miseries and discomforts they had encountered along the way, he had yet to hear one word of grievance from Teresa. He marveled at her endurance, especially so because she was carrying a child. She calculated it would be born after they reached their destination in Arizona. Her roughest time was still ahead, for they could not possibly arrive before April, and then only if the going was much easier than it had been.
He had seen the miserable expressions etched into the weary faces of other married men on their harrowing trek west, heartaches inflicted by their nagging, complaining wives. Yes, he was blessed.
"Myles, perhaps we should wait till morning to cross," Teresa called, her voice hopeful. "At dawn, the waters will probably be calm."
Myles shook his head and pointed to the storm clouds. "We've been lucky they haven't broken by now, honey. There's snow in those clouds. Heavy snow. We could get marooned here. No, I'm afraid we're going to have to cross over now, all three wagons."
He shifted his gaze to Elisa Thatcher's wagon. The Conestoga, with its broad wheels, wouldn't sink easily into mud, its floor curving upward at each end to prevent the contents from moving about. But unlike the other travelers, Elisa had her wagon packed to capacity with what she often referred to as "priceless family heirlooms." Myles snorted. The only thing priceless out there on the trail were food and water. He'd be damned if he'd endanger himself by hauling around all that fancy furniture and crystal. Teresa and Julie had been inside the wagon and told him what they'd seen.
He saw Elisa's driver, the old Negro called Micah, shuffling around in little circles, kicking up sand with his scuffed wooden shoes, hands jammed into the pockets of worn, frayed trousers, his white head shaking. Everyone knew Elisa gave him a hard time, always yelling that he couldn't do anything right, how she should have left him behind in Georgia to starve along with the other freed slaves, how he should be grateful she was letting him go to Arizona with her.
Elisa saw Myles looking, and waved, smiling broadly. He lifted an arm wanly in response. Despite her foul disposition she was a pretty woman. Long golden curls delicately framed sculptured features. Her eyes were smoky blue, with long lashes she knew just how to lower teasingly whenever a man was around. Still, Myles did not like her, and he couldn't put his finger on the exact reason why. The other women criticized her often, calling her a conceited, spoiled brat, too used to getting her own way. Elisa let everyone know that her husband was a lieutenant in the U.S. Cavalry at the post they were headed for in Arizona. She was always hinting that invitations to balls and parties she planned to give would be hers to hand out—or not—as she chose. He was glad Teresa didn't care about things like that, because he had had enough of fancy balls and teas at Rose Hill when it had been in its glory.
Thinking of Rose Hill made him look at Julie, standing beside her smaller wagon behind Elisa's. He felt a rush of pride. Lord, what that little one had been through in the past four years! It made him sick every time he thought about it. He hadn't been there when their mother talked her into agreeing to marry that impostor, Virgil Oates, who swore he had the necessary connections to get Rose Hill cotton through the Federal blockade and save their plantation from ruin. Before then, Myles had been forced to flee the hangman's noose. Everyone knew of his lack of sympathy for the South's cause, and no jury would have given him a fair trial after he killed the men who had assaulted Julie, an attack precipitated by revenge on Myles's political views. So he had not been there to stop Julie from sailing to Bermuda on a blockade runner, en route to England and marriage to Virgil. Thank God a bizarre set of circumstances had intervened and she'd never made it, and the wedding had never taken place.
Myles could see the hopeful expression on Julie's face as she watch
ed the field wagon near the opposite bank. Even in that drab dress of simple gray muslin, her rare and delicate beauty shone. Her sleek black hair was braided, but he knew that when she brushed it that night it would fall wistfully around her lovely face, and her emerald eyes would sparkle despite her weariness.
Or would they? Myles chewed on his lower lip. Lately he had seen a strange despondency in his sister. It had begun, he recalled, shortly after they left Brunswick, Georgia, in the fall. Myles was completely perplexed. He had seen her face suffused with joy when they discovered that their wagon master was to be none other than Derek Arnhardt, the man Julie was in love with. Of course, she had never said as much, but Myles just had a gut feeling about it.
He recalled how Derek had come riding in on that big golden palomino, heading straight for their wagon. The cry went up, "It's him, the wagon master! We're on our way!" They had been waiting for the person who would lead them west, away from the misery of the Civil War, and when Myles recognized Derek as their savior, he couldn't believe it. Julie looked as though she had seen a ghost.
Myles jumped up to shake Derek's hand and found himself in for another shock. Their cousin, Thomas Carrigan, came charging up on horseback to laugh at Myles's expression and tell him he was the assistant wagon master. The two of them watched as Derek reached over, took Julie in his arms, lifted her into his saddle, and rode away with her. It was some time before they came back.
Myles had told Teresa the story of Julie and Derek Arnhardt. Derek had been captain of the blockade-runner Ariane, the ship Julie had sailed on her way to marry Virgil Oates.
Derek kept her from completing her voyage, holding her for a ransom Virgil never paid. The Yankees blew up the Ariane and made Derek walk the plank, but Julie slipped him a knife so he could cut his ropes and swim to safety. Later, she found her way back to him. By then, Myles had returned to Rose Hill to learn that Virgil had married their dying mother. Myles was still a wanted man, and Virgil set the law on him, and he had been sent to the infamous Libby Prison, in Richmond.
Thank God Thomas had been one of the soldiers at Libby, and he had managed to help Myles escape. He nursed Myles until he could get around, and they went in search of Derek, trying to find Julie.
Myles shook his head in bitter reflection. Things had not turned out well. When Derek finally found Julie, it was obvious that something bad had happened between them. Julie had never told her brother exactly what it was, but he knew she was hurt, deeply hurt. She had been forced, somehow, to betray her own people. He did not prod her for specifics.
Anyway, Myles sighed as he continued to stare at Julie; she had been sinking deeper and deeper within herself since they'd left Brunswick, four months earlier. Almost every night he and Teresa talked about it. Teresa couldn't get Julie to tell her anything. "But it must have something to do with Derek," she kept saying. "I can tell by the way they look at each other—or rather, don't look at each other. They're like total strangers, but they were in love once."
"I think they were in love," Myles said, bewildered. "I can't be sure. All I'm sure of is that they went through a lot together. But Julie has always kept her troubles to herself. We were always very close, but there was a part of her she never shared with me or anybody else. I guess... if she and Derek are meant to be together, they will work out their problems."
Julie looked up to see Myles staring at her and started walking toward him. He hated that she had insisted on keeping the little wagon they had started out on and driving it herself. Both he and Teresa had assured her she would be more than welcome to share the Conestoga he had bought as soon as they got married, but Julie said newlyweds should be alone. Besides, she was capable of handling the wagon by herself. Derek had not liked it, and they'd had some words over her insistence, but Myles stayed out of arguments between Derek and his sister.
Julie worriedly greeted him, "I don't like the idea of our being stuck over here, away from the others, if that storm decides to break. Do you think we'll get across today?"
Just as he was about to answer, there was a distant cheer, and they turned to see that the field wagon had made it across the churning river. Immediately a rider on an exhausted horse started back through the water toward them, and Myles said worriedly, "I have a feeling we're about to find out."
"It's Thomas." Julie nodded toward the rider. He was shivering with cold, his pant legs soaked with the icy waters of the Colorado River.
"Get going and be careful," he said to Myles. "Let Teresa take the reins and you hold onto the guide rope. If you stay in a straight line and hold steady, the horses' hooves and the wagon wheels can stay on the bottom. Veer off the least little bit and you'll get caught in the current."
Myles hurried to his wagon to tell Teresa, and Julie turned toward her own wagon. But Thomas called to her, "Get in your brother's wagon, Julie, or Mrs. Thatcher's. We're leaving yours behind. Arnhardt says if the storm doesn't break tonight, we can come back for it in the morning."
"But what if we can't come back?" she protested. "That storm looks bad. And we might wake up to find snow on the ground. I'm not losing my wagon and my team!"
Thomas shook his head. "I'm sorry, Julie. There's no time to argue. Those are his orders. Now please, just get in another wagon. If there's anything important in yours, tell me and I'll get it for you now."
"This isn't fair," she said tightly, green eyes flashing. "I was way up in line ready to cross. I should have crossed at midday, but Derek kept sending word for me to fall back so the larger, heavier wagons could go. They took my place. Now my wagon is the one to be left behind. That's not right."
"You can argue with him later." Thomas sighed. "I've got my orders, and now you've got yours. We're wasting time and there is no time. Now, do you want anything out of your wagon or not?"
She shook her head, eyeing him steadily. After a moment, he moved away. She watched as he rode back to the river, guiding Myles's wagon by the guide rope stretched between the banks and tied to trees.
Hearing running footsteps, she turned to see old Micah. "Miz Marshall," he called. "Miz Thatcher say for you to come on now. We's fixin' to cross."
Julie walked straight to her own wagon, hoisted herself up, and took the reins in her hands. "So am I." She smiled down at him. "You and Mrs. Thatcher go right ahead. I'm not leaving my team and my wagon."
Having heard Julie's declaration, Elisa Thatcher leaned out of her wagon and called, "Leave her be, Micah. Let her make a fool of herself, if that's what she wants."
Julie pretended not to hear. Her grip on the reins was firm, her gaze straight ahead.
When Myles was midway through the river, Micah moved his wagon into the water. It had become quite dark, and Julie had to strain to see the Thatcher wagon. All she had to do, she told herself, was stay close behind Micah.
It seemed hours before Micah's wagon reached mid-river. When it did, her nerves taut, Julie popped the reins and moved the eager horses forward. They were right behind Micah, and it was so dark that Derek couldn't see her there. By the time he realized she'd disobeyed his order, she and her wagon would be safely across.
Julie could barely see the gray canvas of the wagon ahead of her as she urged her horses down the gentle slope of the riverbank and into the black, churning river. The horses balked as they felt the icy water, and she snapped the reins again, hard. Wind whipped about her face, making her eyes burn and tear. Blinking furiously, ducking her head against the wind, she gripped the reins tightly and forced her team onward into the water.
Suddenly the wagon gave a sharp lurch to the left, and she realized, terrified, that the mist was descending so quickly that she couldn't see anything at all. Elisa's wagon was no longer visible, and she had planned to follow that, because there was no one beside her to grasp the guide rope. But the rope had to be there, she knew that. Wrapping the reins around her left hand, continuing to pop them up and down to force the horses forward, she moved along the rough wooden bench to the right, groping for the r
ope in the mist. It wasn't there.
The horses stumbled, this time more sharply, and Julie realized they were floundering. The wagon and the horses were all afloat. She had gotten off the track, into a place where the water was too deep for the wagon wheels to touch bottom. Freezing water flowed across her feet, rising to her calves. Then suddenly she was thrown sideways, the reins torn from her as she groped for the seat, trying frantically to stay in the wagon.
Ahead and, oh, too far to her right, cheers of triumph rose above the crash of the river. Myles had made it. But she saw how far from his wake she was. She had been caught in the current and was being swept downriver. She groped for the reins, then gave that up and held tightly to the sides of the bench, struggling to keep from being thrown into the water.
Another cheer. Micah had made it across. They all sounded so far away. Too far. She screamed, screamed long and loudly, but the sound wasn't enough, and the waters rushed over it. Just then, the wagon lurched over into the thrashing waters.
At the destination point on the riverbank, Derek was helping haul up Elisa Thatcher's wagon. He froze. Had he heard a scream? He ran along the bank. Thirty yards or so downriver, he saw a wagon, bobbing and rolling in the mist, the black figures of horses struggling. Was he seeing right? Without thinking, he threw himself into the churning foam, calling on every shred of strength to take him through the churning current. He called Julie's name—who else could it be?—and felt a stab as he heard her feeble cry.
Behind him, in the distance, Myles shouted, "Hang on, Derek, I'm coming!"
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