Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  His brothers did their best to console him and comfort Jane. But there was no solace, only pain—overwhelming heart-crushing sorrow. And nothing they could do would change that.

  Losing two daughters in the same night was beyond brutal. It was misery incarnate. Here, in person, trying its best to conquer him. He sensed its presence, clawing, grabbing for him, wanting to take his soul to dark foul places. He didn’t know how to fight back.

  And misery found yet another tactic for torture. Watching Jane suffer. Hearing her weep broke his heart. He couldn’t stand to see her consumed by sadness. He thought she might cry herself blind. Helpless, this was the one time he could not be her hero. He didn’t know how to help her. He couldn’t help her.

  As the sun rose, so did his anger. He wanted to lash out at somebody, especially himself. “Edward was right. God is punishing me. I wasn’t satisfied with what I had. Edward warned us this would happen. Why didn’t I listen?” he yelled at his brothers. “Why didn’t you make me listen?”

  “You are not being punished,” John said.

  Unable to bear hearing Jane weep any longer, and afraid he would scare the other children with his anger and grief, Stephen took off on foot. But each step away from her only made him feel worse. He should be by her side, but he needed time to figure out how to help her. How to help them both.

  He hurried toward the woods. He started to run. He wanted to be alone, completely alone, to flee from misery, before it possessed him completely. He ran as fast as he could, winding through the trees, his feelings taking control of him—his mental strength weakening by the moment. He wasn’t used to losing control. But, overcome by the depth and strength of his grief, he did lose control, even of his body. He fell to his knees, unable to take another step.

  His head threatened to explode. His stomach rolled inside him. He wanted to vomit but couldn’t. He wanted to scream and did—from deep within—the scream of a heart ripping apart from grief. He clawed at the earth and then beat the ground repeatedly with his fists, sobbing uncontrollably for the first time in his adult life.

  “I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry,” he wailed repeatedly, his fists grabbing again at the ground. “This is my fault. What have I done? Amy forgive me. Mary forgive me,” he pleaded, looking through tears at first one and then the other handful of dirt he held in each hand. “I gave you up for dirt in some faraway place. Was it that important?”

  Never feeling more miserable or alone, he collapsed, lying on his side, giving in to grief and exhaustion. His fists still tightly held dirt in each hand, just enough to bury him in guilt.

  “Forgive me, but I believe God wants me to speak to you,” John said quietly, walking up behind him.

  He stood at once. His fists clenched at his sides, his mouth contorted in a rage of fresh grief. “Leave me,” he growled, pointing away. “Leave now!”

  “I will not leave you.”

  “I don’t want you here. Go! Go comfort Jane—she needs you more than I.”

  “Stephen, remember the story of Job. God may allow you to suffer, but he will never forsake you. But, neither can you forsake Him. The one thing you feared the most has happened. Their safety was the only hesitation you had in deciding to come. I know Edward’s words haunt you now. But he was wrong. We cannot live in fear, securing ourselves from perils and avoiding the life we are destined to lead. Sam’s right—danger is a part of life. The part that makes life real. You were destined to make this trip. That was God’s will. We cannot question His wisdom. Your girls were gifts from Him but only for a short while. We will never know why. Only He knows how much time each of us has on this earth.”

  “Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought them. They could have stayed with Edward until it was safe. Now it’s too late, too late to keep them safe.”

  “The girls would have been miserable without you. We all decided this together, you, Jane, and the rest of us. Do not put it all on you. Even your broad shoulders need not carry the responsibility of all our decisions. We are all a part of this—and we will stand together, through whatever tribulations we must endure.”

  “I don’t have the strength.”

  “You don’t have to,” John said, “just have the faith.”

  John wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gently turned him back toward their camp. He let the dirt in his hands slowly slip through his fingers.

  “Faith,” he whispered, as he began the long walk back to his wife and...two daughters.

  Chapter 23

  That afternoon, Jane slowly climbed into her wagon, dreading what she must do. John had offered, but she refused his help. They were her babies and she would take care of them.

  She redressed Amy, and then carefully placed each child in soft cloth. She kissed their foreheads and studied each of their faces one last time before she forced her trembling hands to cover their heads with the shroud.

  Her tears fell repeatedly on the fabric as she shakily wrapped them.

  “I’m sorry. My kisses weren’t enough,” she whispered, her lips quivering, and her heart breaking into two halves—one for each of her departed daughters.

  Bear dug a single tiny grave to hold both of them under a majestic old pine. He lined the bottom of the grave with pine needles, making a soft bed for them. When Bear finished, Stephen turned to find Jane.

  “It’s time,” Stephen gently whispered to her.

  He helped her climb out of the wagon. She seemed on the verge of collapsing, but he saw her force herself to straighten her back and steady her breath. She gripped his hands as though she were desperate for his strength. She would need his strength this day. He would have to have enough for both of them.

  Bear carried Amy and William carried baby Mary. Behind them, John escorted Stephen and Jane, his long arms wrapped around each of them. Sam and the children followed slowly.

  He stared at the empty grave as they approached. It waited eerily—for his daughters. Waited for them to fill it with two young lives—lives taken away from him forever. It was the worst thing he had ever set his eyes upon. He hated it.

  Bear laid Amy in first and then William gently put Mary next to her.

  John removed his hat, as did the other men. “Grief such as this has no cure, only a dulling brought on by time,” John said. “Do not blame God. He does not cause innocents suffering and affliction. His enemy does. Because he wants to stop us from carrying out God’s will. I pray that this experience will only strengthen our faith. For we know that through terrible times, God never leaves us. Though we may lose members of our family, we never lose Him. We believe it is His will for us to go to Kentucky. We will get there, no matter what obstacles fall in our way or what sadness we must overcome. These two angels are His now, no longer ours. He will care for them and protect them far better than we can. Stephen and Jane, you will be together again with your daughters in His Kingdom and in His time. Until that time, Lord bless them. Amen. Let us sing.”

  “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

  Praise him, all creatures here below;

  Praise him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

  Stephen couldn’t sing. Neither could Jane. As the sorrowful group sang the old hymn, he watched as his wife slipped away.

  As Bear and William began gathering nearby rocks, the surrounding forest stood eerily quiet, as though all creatures had indeed heard the old hymn.

  Stephen could only watch.

  Sam held the hands of his other two girls, who probably had only a vague understanding of what they just witnessed. “Mary and Amy are in heaven,” Sam told the children. “All believers will go there. Some have to go sooner than expected.”

  “But I want to play with Amy,” Polly said, her face reflecting the confusion of grief.

  “We have to wait till we’re together in heaven,” Martha gently explained.

  Tears slid down Martha’s cheeks, despite how brave she was trying to be.

  Sam leaned down on his
cane and looked directly at her. “Your baby sisters loved you. They knew that you loved them too.”

  “But Uncle Sam, I didn’t get to say it before they died,” Martha cried. “And now I can never talk to them again. Never, ever, ever again.”

  Stephen stood nearby listening to the conversation. It broke his heart even further.

  “Talk to them now honey,” Sam said.

  “But they won’t hear me,” she wailed.

  “Those dear to us can always hear us, even from heaven. Your love for them makes that happen. Believe me, because I know it’s true.”

  “Truly?” Martha whimpered. “They can hear us in heaven?”

  “Only the ones we love. They’ll hear you. Talk to them, we’ll wait,” Sam said.

  Sam took Little John and Polly aside to give Martha time to say goodbye. He picked up Polly, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Children need to say their goodbyes too,” Sam said.

  As Stephen stood there, time seemed to pass in slow motion. His whole world felt like it was coming to a stop.

  After a few long minutes, Little John went to Martha’s side and put his arm around her shoulder. Slowly they turned, his arm still comforting her until they joined Sam.

  “Let’s go see if we can help your mother,” Sam said. “She’s going to need our help a lot for a while. Can you girls and you Little John do that?”

  “Yes Sir,” all three said in unison.

  Stephen watched as Bear stood over the grave and stared down. Bear had cherished the girls like his own. Nearby, stood the stack of rocks they had gathered to cover the earth and a large stone he would use to mark the grave.

  Bear had spent hours that day carving the name Wyllie into the stone along with the beautiful Celtic symbol of everlasting love, the Serch Bythol. The design consisted of knots and two trinities. Bear placed the trinities side by side, bonded by a circle showing eternal love, signifying two people joined in everlasting love for eternity. Both Stephen and Jane’s ancestors were from Scotland and the embellishment brought him some measure of comfort. Stephen also believed that the two girls would be joined in God’s everlasting love and that brought him the most comfort.

  Silently, he said goodbye to his daughters for the last time. He swore Sam was right—it felt like they could still hear him.

  He nodded for Bear to proceed.

  “It would be my honor to do this,” Bear said. “Ye do na have to.”

  “Yes, I most definitely have to,” he choked out.

  Bear picked up two spades, handing one to Stephen. He began to fill the grave with earth, forcing his hand to turn the first blade full of dirt into the grave. As the earth slipped slowly off the shovel, sharp grief dug a hole in his heart. By the time they had finished, he felt as if he had no heart.

  He lovingly patted the soft dirt smooth before reaching for the first rock.

  Big tears dampened the earth of the small grave.

  Chapter 24

  For several days, Jane could not speak to anyone of her sadness, as though speaking of it would make it happen all over again. When she did try to talk to someone, even with Stephen, no words would come, only tears. Her feelings were still too raw to voice.

  Instead, she floated in daydreams of their farmhouse and the surrounding rolling hills and stunning mountains. They had been so happy there. Motherhood was joyous and warm, not something frozen by grief’s bitter sadness. But that wonderful life and two adorable daughters were gone. Gone forever. Nothing would change that. No matter how hard she tried, she could feel nothing but helpless despair.

  A week later Jane wrote, I have never known such sorrow. I feel like my heart is bleeding within me. My two babies are gone—snatched from my arms by a murderous thief I could not defend them against. How can you fight something you cannot see?

  I had to leave them alone, behind me. I hate that thought. Almost as much as losing them.

  At least they have each other.

  I sat up with them that last night. I knew it would be my last chance to be with them. The others didn’t know I went back to their….she could hardly make herself write the word…grave, after we had all gone to bed. Bear must have seen me leave camp. He quietly stood guard over me all night, just a few yards away. He had carved their headstone with a beautiful symbol of everlasting love. I told my girls, there by their tiny resting place, how much I would miss them. I told them not to blame their father—that they were precious to him and they would always be so. I told them that nothing could ever separate them from our hearts and from our love.

  I will be forever grateful to Bear for his vigil, for giving me peace of mind while I spent that one last night with my daughters.

  I can’t talk to Stephen. I feel like I have lost him too. At first, I wanted him to hold me. He tried, and I pushed him away. Several times. Now, it’s too late. He’s stopped trying. It’s just as well—I don’t want to even speak to him, to learn how bitter I have become. I cannot believe what is happening to me. I am beginning to blame him, and that is making me hate myself.

  I’m also frightened. I am afraid to have the baby I carry. I fear I will lose him too if we keep on with this difficult journey. We should never have left our happy home. If we hadn’t, I’d still have all my babies and a home for our son. Now I have neither.

  Stephen stayed away from all of them as much as possible. Normally laconic, the past week he had been even quieter, barely speaking at all. Sam had tried to reach out to him several times, but he wanted none of it. His mind remained tormented by guilt, and nothing Sam could say would change that. But it seemed his big brother would not give up easily.

  Leading Alex, with a bright morning sun at his back, Sam strode up to him as he was saddling George.

  “From what I recall of what Possum Clark said, we might encounter Cherokee up ahead,” Sam said.

  Stephen tightened the cinch, tugging it tighter when the stallion let out a breath. “Then I’ll keep both eyes open and both pistols loaded,” he said, more sharply than he intended. He buckled the strap. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Doesn’t hurt, but I still can’t put my full weight on it. It’s almost there though. I’ll manage.”

  They mounted their horses and settled into their saddles. “You need to pay more attention to Jane. She’s hurting too. I know you are having a hard time, barely able to handle your own grief, let alone hers too, but you need to share your pain, so she can share hers with you. If you don’t, there’s a real chance she’ll become even more melancholy, maybe never get over this.”

  “She’s made it clear she wants to be left alone. She’s strong. She’ll be fine in time,” Stephen said. He pushed his hat on firmly and rode on, staying well ahead of the others, listening to the rhythmic sound of George walking and the creaking of saddle leather. His groaning heart felt like leather too. He had to do something to reach her.

  Stephen strolled with Martha beside him, glad he had agreed to the walk with her that evening. There is something important about walking with your child. It’s the kind of simple thing you remember years later, when memories of bigger events fade.

  They had decided to pick flowers for Jane to try to cheer her up. Martha knew her mother still suffered terribly and she thought the flowers might help.

  He held Martha’s small hand. It seemed so soft and fragile. He clearly remembered the first time he held the tiny hand of his first daughter—the fatherly pride that filled him and the sudden need to create a substantial future for her. A child has a way of making a man want to do something important with his life.

  Their stroll triggered another memory. Sam Senior had made a special effort to take his youngest son out with him as he made his daily survey of their farm and the rugged hills surrounding it. For Stephen, this was always a special time with his father. Something only the two of them did together. His father never asked the older boys to come along. Perhaps because he understood how much more Stephen loved the land than the others did.
Maybe his father had seen the passion Stephen felt for their homeplace as he rode bareback through their pasture. Or had the man seen the pure joy in his eyes when his father gave him his first colt? Or the awe on his face as together they watched a calf being born?

  Together, they had watched the new calf find the tits of its mother, and his father had told him of the importance of land. He could still remember his words: “As is customary, your oldest brother Sam will inherit our family acreage. But you must find a place on this good earth to call your own. For each man, there is a special woman for him alone. And, I believe, there is also a piece of earth that is yours alone. You must find it. You may not find it here. Land is hard to come by and taxes get worse every year. But find it you must or you will never be the man you’re supposed to be.”

  He never forgot. He could still almost feel his father’s big strong farmer’s hand and smell the good earth on him. And his father’s words would be forever etched in his mind. He touched the pouch of soil inside his coat.

  He studied Martha’s hand. Would she be able to walk on her own land with her own child someday and hold the small hand of another generation? Could he keep her safe until then? He had to. He would do whatever it took to ensure that future for her. He promised himself he would let no harm come to her. Ever.

  And he absolutely would succeed in this quest for land. The need for land was not his alone—it spanned three generations. For his father, for himself, for his children, he had to find their land.

  He noticed Martha taking two steps for every one of his, so he slowed his pace. He couldn’t believe he had come so close to losing her too to that devil Bomazeen. Ugly emotions rose quickly to the surface of his mind, like an over-filled pot about to boil over. He swallowed hard, struggling to regain control of his already volatile emotions.