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

by Dorothy Wiley

  Stephen picked up Little John and they started off again, with a cool wind seeming to chase them back to camp.

  Rain started falling and, as he predicted, it came down as if poured from large buckets. They headed down the rocky hills they had climbed on the way up, the blowing rain smacking their faces like slaps from a cold hand. The steepness and lack of visibility made it difficult to hurry.

  Moments later, it seemed like a frozen hell. The wind whipped pebble-sized hail into their backs. Stephen covered Little John’s face with his hat, which left his own face exposed to the stinging frozen rain, and pulled the boy against his body.

  Little John sobbed loudly now, into Stephen’s chest, but continued to bite down on the rope.

  Stephen stepped down on a rock covered with hailstones, his foot slid backward across the slick wet stones. He stumbled, landing on his knees, hitting both kneecaps on stones as he desperately fought to keep Little John’s head and arm from hitting the ground.

  The impact of the fall made Little John scream out in pain.

  Stephen glanced up searching for his brother, but Sam hadn’t heard the scream or seen them fall and didn’t look back. He used his body to cover Little John and studied the boy’s face. The rope still hung from the corners of his mouth. His nephew was clearly in agony, but he looked back at Stephen with the iron that was in his blood. “Trust me. We’ll get you back,” he promised Little John.

  He carefully scooped the boy up and hurried toward Sam, feeling pain in both knees.

  More than an hour had passed since they had cut the meat off the doe. Heavy rain had poured ever since, but thankfully, the hail ceased its assault. Rainwater flowed down his back, soaking his jacket and making the skin on his bare chest feel like a sheet of ice.

  As they made their way downward, a nearly solid blanket of liquid flowed around them making every step treacherous. He wondered how long they would be able to continue. But they had to keep going. Water already ran swiftly at the bottom of the hill. He couldn’t tell how deep the stream was.

  They stopped and peered up and down the surging water for a better place to cross, but it appeared the same in both directions, with the stream rising by the minute.

  “Give him to me,” Sam shouted.

  His brother wanted Little John since he was taller, in case the water was deep. He handed Little John over and took the venison.

  Stephen glanced upstream. “Hurry,” he yelled, pointing to a rising wall of water coming rapidly towards them.

  With their free arms, both men held their rifles overhead as they plunged into the icy swiftly moving stream. Stephen felt his leather knee-high boots fill with water. His hat was a sodden weight on his head and his wool jacket felt like a heavy blanket on his back.

  With his big long legs, and clothing made of animal skins, Sam seemed to almost sprint across, but Stephen struggled for each step. He looked upstream with alarm. The flash flood waters approached with frightening speed.

  He fought to steady himself, but with each step, the current grew deeper and stronger. Halfway across, he nearly lost his grip on the venison as the rapidly moving current pushed against his hand. He used the butt of his rifle to draw it back, pulling it tightly to his chest and tightening his grip on the meat. Then, the racing wall of water smashed into him like a battering ram.

  Instantly, his knees buckled and he lost his footing, falling completely into the frigid churning liquid. He thrashed about trying to recover his balance, swallowing muddy water as he fought to breathe. His feet flailed under him as he searched for the steam’s bottom. The churning water swallowed him completely, turned him upside down, and then back up again.

  He should try to swim, but he would have to give up his precious rifle and the meat to do so. Refusing to give them up, he wrestled against the surging stream as his lungs fought for air. Stephen thrashed about, his legs failing to locate the river bed. He needed air or his lungs would explode. He concentrated on finding a foothold to push against. Finally, his right boot felt the bottom and he pushed himself up above the waterline, gasping for air and coughing out the liquefied mud. Amazingly, he still held the rifle in one hand and gripped the venison bundle in the other.

  Stephen managed to regain his balance and straighten up. As soon as he did, lightning cracked and thunder boomed just above his head making his legs unsteady again. Yet, determined to reach the far bank, he slogged on through the rushing water. All of a sudden, he wondered if it was the right bank. Turned around and upside down several times by the wild rushing vortex, reality had shifted. Nothing was as it had been just moments before. Was he even going the right direction? He glanced down, the water was flowing to his left, the same direction it had been when they entered the creek. At least he was headed in the right direction.

  He waded out of the muddy impromptu river. He had lost his hat in the surge of water and had difficulty seeing, as rain poured off his head into his eyes. He tried to find some landmark that would show him which direction to go. He couldn’t see Sam anywhere. Disoriented, he stood on the edge of the stream, his teeth chattering violently, wondering if the floodwater had carried him downstream when he fell. Everywhere he looked, water either flowed into the river or stood in pools growing deeper by the minute. It seemed like the whole world had dissolved into an ugly grey-brown liquid.

  Another lightning bolt struck nearby, exploding a tree, and made him want to race for cover. But the only cover was trees, and they were all standing in water like he was.

  He took off, splashing through water several inches deep, knowing he had to find his brother and quickly. After this downpour and flash flooding, he’d have difficulty finding his way back without him. He thought for a moment. The water must have carried him south, away from Sam. But how far? Trudging a few yards ahead, his anxiety grew as he saw no sign of Sam or the boy. As he should, his brother would be concentrating on getting Little John, who was suffering and freezing, back to camp.

  With a growing sense of isolation, he realized he was on his own. I can do this, he told himself. He felt the front’s biting wind on his face and its icy chill as it penetrated his soaked clothes. He suspected that the storm blew in from the north so he turned into the gusts, hoping to get back to the place where Sam had crossed. He had to find shelter; the temperature was dropping by the minute. He wound through the sodden trees, all looking like they were floating in water. Repeatedly, he slipped on rocks and hidden holes and had to pull himself up again and again. Each time, paying with more scratches and scrapes, especially on his hands and face. Shivering violently from the bone-numbing cold, he had a hard time keeping his grip on the venison and his rifle. He clutched both to his chest, but the meat felt like a block of ice on his heart. He put it under his arm instead.

  The storm’s clouds made everything look gloomy and oppressive. He tried to find a path leading away from the muddy stream. He trudged forward, his boots sticking in the mud, and for what seemed like hours, searched for some sort of shelter. Just one more step, he kept telling himself. One more step and he’d be closer to Jane, closer to being warm again. When he wanted to just sit down, he imagined the feel her soft body pressed against his. He could almost taste her sweet lips.

  He staggered on. Giving up was not an option. Not when he had Jane to live for. He had nearly lost her twice to Bomazeen and once to grief and the anger it had spawned. He swore he’d never let that happen again. And Martha and Polly. He had lost two daughters, but he still had two. He had to make it back to all of them.

  Finally, he found a thick stand of timber on higher ground. He spotted a huge evergreen covered with a wild grapevine. The enormous lower branches reached the ground and curled back towards the tree’s trunk creating a canopy. The higher branches, covered with the thick leafy vine, would keep out the majority of the downpour. Exhausted, he collapsed to his knees and crawled on the slippery forest floor until he was under the tree. Just a little further, he urged himself as he headed for the tree’s massive tru
nk. The rain still stuttered under the tree’s canopy, but it was more like a shower than a pounding drenching.

  Despite how tired his eyes were, which burned from peering through the rain, he drew his knife and made himself watch for creatures that might have moved into the cozy shelter first. Luckily, the shelter was empty, but the leaf-covered ground next to the trunk still bore the imprints and wild smell of previous inhabitants. He hoped whatever it was wouldn’t return soon.

  He pressed his back against the trunk of the tree, away from the howling wind, and with trembling hands yanked off his wet boots. He tugged off his wet wool jacket and tried to use it as a blanket, wishing he had brought his big cloak along. But the jacket was so soaked, water ran from its edges. He threw it over a nearby sturdy branch instead to let the water seep out of it before he put it back on. He put his icy feet in his hands and set to work rubbing his numb toes, but his hands were so raw and scratched he could not continue. He put his hands under his armpits hoping to warm them just a little as he fought to control his constant shivering and his chattering teeth.

  Stephen closed his burning eyes for a moment. He needed to rest. Could he risk going to sleep? What if a bear or a mountain cat found him asleep? He forced his eyelids open, but they seemed to have a will of their own, a will stronger than his.

  Behind his eyelids, he saw Little John and wondered if he would be all right. Was it a broken rib or had the boy been injured inside? If Little John died, heaven forbid, Jane might blame him again. Would another child be sacrificed for his dream? Please God, no.

  He tried to banish the repugnant thoughts, but they were quickly replaced with yet another worry. Had he wandered closer to their camp or away from it? It was late in the day. It would be dark soon. With the darkness, even deeper cold would come. He had certainly experienced intense cold in New Hampshire, but not when he was this wet and this exhausted. His body could not withstand these conditions for long.

  Bear, William, and Sam would come looking for him when the rain let up. If it ever did. This was no ordinary storm. If it had blown in from the sea, it could rain for hours. Would they know where to look? He hoped he hadn’t strayed too far from where he had last seen Sam. He would be impossible to track after this storm. Maybe he should backtrack if he could. Find the spot where they had crossed. But he had to rest first.

  He wearily closed his eyes again. He hugged his legs and lay down, a ball of misery. He pushed his body into the wet earth and pine needles, trying to bury himself away from the chilly wind. His bruised and swollen kneecaps and his strained shoulder hurt, but the pain was almost a welcome distraction from the bone-chilling cold.

  He’d rest just long enough to regain his strength, just for a moment.

  Something woke Stephen. He hadn’t meant to sleep for long, yet he could tell that he had. It was almost dark. The rain, slower now, still filtered through the tree’s branches around his makeshift shelter.

  What had he heard? Maybe he hadn’t heard anything. Maybe it was just the wind, but the wind had mercifully died down. He forced himself to steady his breathing and to listen beyond the rain and into the timber. A shiver went through him. It wasn’t from the cold. He strained again to hear something. But he could not locate the source of the eerie feeling creeping through him.

  He quietly reached for his rifle. Would the powder be dry enough? He emptied the pan and quickly refilled it with fresh powder, trying to keep his half-frozen hands from shaking. The powder might be damp even inside the typically waterproof powder horn. But what he had just been through was not typical. There was a good chance the rifle would not fire. He had his knife and hatchet he reminded himself.

  And he had courage. Faith and courage. He would need both. He slowly stood up. He had difficulty straightening his stiff knees and legs. He leaned against the tree to keep from falling down.

  The shiver hit him again, but this time it slithered down the full length of his spine, waking up his tired back muscles. His breathing quickened with the faster beat of his heart. He stared into the semi-darkness, thankful that he at least had some light. He saw nothing. No sounds, no movement. Nothing.

  He was just tired, his nerves on edge. He’d been through enough today. Nothing else would happen. Would it?

  What would Sam do? He’d listen to his instincts. He wouldn’t resort to self-deception—trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. He’d find his courage. He took a deep rallying breath, steadied his nerves, and called upon his senses. Something prowled out there, something malevolent. He scanned the woods again—but this time he looked further, into the trees.

  There.

  Only visible because of its yellow eyes, hot with intensity, focused keenly on him, a huge menacing head. He was enormous—all massive muscles and fur. The biggest wolf he had ever seen.

  The wolf took a step forward and snarled, baring his teeth.

  Even through the rain, Stephen could see its ink-black coat bristling. He remembered what Bear had said about wolves having 42 bone-crushing teeth. But like a dream wolf, suddenly it was gone again, leaving him with only a feeling of dread.

  It had not gone away. He felt watched. More than watched—studied.

  For what seemed like an eternity, it stalked him. Just out of sight, veiled by the tree’s huge branches and the incessant steady rain. He decided the wolf had revealed himself only long enough to try to weaken his prey with fear. Well, he wouldn’t let fear weaken him. To the marrow of his bones, he felt terror, but he would not give into it.

  In a blink, the wolf could leap upon him and rip him apart. The wolf’s teeth would crush his ribs and tear out his heart—destroying everything his heart had dreamed of for so long.

  Here’s where it happens. Just like Sam always said. Being brave wouldn’t be enough. Victory only goes to the bravest and the most savage. He could only survive the wilderness and this wolf if he could be as savage as it was. Stephen reached deep down inside and drew out the strength to battle.

  Still unseen, the black fiend growled deep in its throat.

  The blood-chilling sound made his teeth clench. A sense of imminent attack filled him, but it was more than that. It was a sense of a forthcoming struggle for life. His or the wolf’s?

  Crouched low, Stephen turned in a tight circle, trying to find the brute in the shadows. But the demon would not reveal himself.

  He shuddered and was tempted to run. He took a step forward, testing his knees, then another. He stopped. No, the wolf could easily outrun him. Besides, running in the rain on slippery mud and slick leaves with stiff knees would only lead to falling and being seized from behind. He could almost feel the wolf’s fangs sinking into the back of his neck. As though the wolf was actually leaping on his back, he jerked around and glared behind him.

  But the wolf wasn’t leaping. With wicked poise, the wolf stepped slowly into view.

  Through the ever-changing drips of the rain, he watched the beast’s eyes grow narrow, sharpen into yellow daggers, then his nostrils flared and his lips curled exposing huge teeth. The wolf circled to his right, his steps soft and unhurried.

  He could nearly read the wolf’s thoughts. This was his forest and he didn’t appreciate the intrusion. And he was hungry.

  Stephen tried to think but his wildly drumming heart drowned out every thought he had. He made himself slow his breathing. If he didn’t he’d never be able to aim accurately. Kill it, that’s all you have to do, he told himself. Just kill it.

  He put the wolf in his rifle’s sights, but if the weapon didn’t fire, which was likely, the wolf would be on top of him before he could pull his hatchet or knife. He considered climbing the tree, but his swollen knees would make quickly scrambling up the tree impossible. It would only be a good way to lose a foot or a leg.

  Best to go with a sure thing. He yanked out his knife, good sized, but he wished it were as big as Sam’s blade. He wrapped his fingers, numb with cold, and his raw palm, around the knife’s handle. He grabbed his hatchet with th
e other hand, the wet handle slippery.

  He tightened his grip on both as another shiny coat emerged from the other side of his shelter.

  Chapter 38

  “Look,” Bear yelled, his hunter’s eyes the first to spot Sam. “Sam’s carryin’ Little John.”

  Bear, John, and William left the shelter of the wagons and ran toward the two. They all had to hold on to their hats to keep the wind from blowing them off. Anxious to see Stephen, Jane followed right behind them, her heavy wet skirt dragging in the mud. She was more than a little tempted to exchange her gown for a pair of Stephen’s breeches and a shirt.

  “Help him,” Sam yelled over the wind and rain.

  “What happened?” John shouted as he ran towards them.

  “He fell in a hidden cavern, broke his arm,” Sam answered.

  “Papa,” Little John cried, reaching for his father with his good arm. His little fist clutched the small piece of rope.

  John carefully lifted his son off Sam’s shoulder.

  Jane was relieved to see Little John and Sam, but didn’t see Stephen anywhere. “Where’s Stephen?” she nearly demanded.

  “Lost him sometime back. We crossed a creek of rising waters and I don’t think he made it across.”

  Jane wanted to faint. Was she going to lose Stephen so soon after they had found each other again? No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She held her breath as Sam continued.

  “I went back to look for him but with Little John hurting so, I didn’t look for long. Besides, I couldn’t see past a few feet. We’ll find him after this rain lets up.”

  “No, we have to go now!” Jane shouted. “He could be injured.”

  Sam shook his head. “We’d just wind up with more of us lost or hurt. Don’t worry, we’ll leave the minute we can.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry,” she shrieked. “That’s my husband out there!” Her nerves were getting the best of her. She needed to get ahold of herself. “I’m sorry Sam, I’m just so uneasy about Stephen I can’t think clearly. Let’s see to Little John. William, carry the girls from my wagon to Catherine’s. John, put Little John in mine.”