by Kit Morgan
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
About the Series
About the Author
Also by Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
Trail to Clear Creek
Thanksgiving Books & Blessings
Collection One
by Kit Morgan
© 2018 Kit Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Carpe Libra Designs.
Chapter One
Independence, Missouri, March 1849
Benedict is dead. My heart bleeds.
But I must go on.
Honoria Alexandra Sayer dipped her pen into the inkwell, eyes on the page before her. She’d written that entry months ago, but her pain at times was still bone-searing deep. She hadn’t written in her private diary since.
She put pen to paper and began to write …
Benedict, my love, so much has happened since you left us. The boys insist I decide what to do. Duncan is especially anxious. Our money is nearly gone.
I wish you were here to guide us, but everything is up to me now and Duncan – at least in his mind. He is the oldest and at nineteen, considered a man. He wants to lead, has been doing so, but I can’t help feeling that we’ll need more. Not that he can’t be head of the family, but there’s so much missing. So much of you.
Honoria sighed, dipped the pen and continued. She didn’t have much time.
Colin and Harrison argue as usual and miss you terribly. Harrison still cries when he thinks no one can see him, and Colin’s practical jokes are rampant. He has annoyed Mr. Greenly at the mercantile more than once, and I’ve had to speak with him about it. I hope their hearts will settle soon.
We must be on our way. I suppose writing to you like this will help me decide what to do. Your dream to come to this country became our dream, my love. And I cannot let that dream die in vain.
“Mother?”
Honoria raised her head. “Yes?”
Her eldest son Duncan stepped into the room. “The others are ready to leave. We made a list of what we’ll need. Mr. Greenly said he has a wagon.”
She closed her eyes and sighed again. So this was it – Duncan was forcing her hand. “Come here, darling.”
He approached, his booted feet heavy against the wooden floor. “Yes, Mother?”
She turned in her chair to look at him. Duncan was tall, taller than his father. “You’ve grown again.”
He put his hand to his chest and shrugged. “Filled out, yes. Taller, no. Not that I’ve noticed.”
She smiled as tears stung the back of her eyes. To her, he was still the little boy that loved animals, saved little damsels in distress (kittens from trees, mostly) and looked out for her as long as she could remember. He was now her knight in shining armor doing his best to fill his father’s shoes. “You really want to do this?”
“You do too. You just can’t admit it.”
Honoria smiled. “You know me so well. But I’ve made my decision. And you’re right – I must have made it days ago and am only now voicing it.”
Duncan went down on one knee and took her hands in his. “Mother, we have to do this.”
“I know. We haven’t a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, but do you really want to stay here?”
“No.” She brushed a lock of his thick dark hair out of his face. He was darkly handsome and turned the heads of women everywhere, both young and old. In England, she and Benedict might have arranged a marriage for him. But she wanted her sons to marry for love, not out of obligation to lands and family.
“Mother?”
“I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have so much on my mind.”
“You miss him, don’t you?”
She swallowed hard. “We all do, darling – you, I think, most of all.” She brushed at the lock again.
He stood. “I’m his son. Your heart belonged to him. He but guided mine.”
Honoria smiled. “You are a wise man, Duncan. But your father loved each of you boys fiercely, never forget that. It’s been more than six months and we have to move on. It’s what he would have wanted.”
Duncan nodded. “We’ll do it, Mother. We’ll go west and start a cattle ranch, just as Father planned. We should have left last month.”
Honoria got up, crossed the room and opened the top drawer of a dresser. She rummaged through the clothing, pulled out a small bundle and opened it. “This is all the money we have left.”
He joined her to stare at their savings. “Will it be enough?”
“I hope so. Supplies can be costly this time of year. Everyone will be scrambling to buy what they can. Have you found out if anyone else is leaving?” She heard the worry in her voice and cleared her throat. But she should be worried – she and her sons had tarried long enough. If there were no other groups leaving Independence at the end of the month, they’d have to stay until next spring. And none of them wanted to do that.
“Yes, there’s a Mr. Kinzey whose company is still forming. We’d need to speak with him first, introduce ourselves. Then we have two weeks to prepare.”
“That’s not much time to get our affairs in order,” she said as her eyes gravitated to the diary on her desk. “But we have to do it.”
Duncan embraced her. “We’ll pull through, Mother. We always do. Besides, this is what we’ve planned for. It’s why we came to this country in the first place.”
When he released her, Honoria reached into her dress sleeve for her handkerchief. “Yes, I know.” She blew her nose, not bothering to stop her tears. Most had been cried by now anyway. The first few months had been the hardest. Now when they came, they didn’t last long.
“Shall I tell Colin and Harrison we’re meeting with Mr. Kinzey?”
“Yes, do that. I’ll get my shawl.”
He touched her shoulder. “Would you like me to carry the money?”
Honoria looked at the bundle in her hand. They’d been following Benedict’s plan, living as frugally as they could to make sure they’d have enough for the long journey west. Duncan found a job at Greenly’s Mercantile shortly after Benedict died. Between that and some sewing Honoria did for Mrs. Drury, the owner of the boardinghouse, they were able to make ends meet. Benedict’s plan had been to head west in March.
When Benedict was killed in a carriage accident last November, she thought those plans would change. For a few months, her heart yearned for her homeland, Sussex in England. But in the end her husband’s dream won out.
Honoria handed her son the bundle, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and with a bracing breath walked out the door.
Amos Kinzey was a bear of a man with dar
k eyes, dark hair and whiskers so thick you couldn’t see anything below his nose. That a mouth resided under them soon became apparent. “Ya want to do what?” he bellowed. “Ya should have sought me out weeks ago!”
They were in Mr. Kinzey’s office, a tiny room he rented over the Independence Gazette. Mr. Wainwright, the editor of the newspaper, could be heard barking orders at his assistant below. Hopefully he wasn’t barking at Colin or Harrison. They chose to wait downstairs “We’re sorry, Mr. Kinzey,” Honoria apologized, ignoring the ruckus beneath them. “But we’ve been undecided about what to do after my husband died.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Ah, yer the ones. I remember when it happened. Terrible accident. To get crushed like that…”
Duncan gently put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Mr. Kinzey, please,” he said with a shake of his head.
Honoria smiled at her son in gratitude. “Be that as it may, Mr. Kinzey, we need to join your wagon train. Your company is the last to leave Independence and we cannot linger any longer.”
“Why not?” he asked and looked Duncan over. “Ya got three sons, all capable of work. Unless these English boys don’t like to get their hands dirty.”
“We do what we must,” Duncan said sternly. “But living in Independence until next spring isn’t what we had in mind, not if we’re able to go now.”
Mr. Kinzey laughed. “Aye, boy, that’s true. And if I say no?”
“Please, Mr. Kinzey,” Honoria said. “We won’t be any trouble.”
“I’m sure ya won’t. And I’ll admit, I could use a lad like your son, Mrs. Sayer. He’s strong and capable-looking. But that isn’t the problem.”
“Then what is?”
He shrugged. “Yer not married.”
“What?” she said in shock. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything, I’m afraid. I run a clean outfit when I take people on. And I’ve made it a habit to lead only families and single men. Not single women. Having them along tends to cause trouble on the road.”
Honoria’s mouth fell open in shock. “You mean you expect me to get married in order to join your wagon train?”
“Aye, ma’am, I do.” He crossed his arms.
Duncan’s head jerked back and forth between them. He clearly couldn’t believe the man either. Honoria cleared her throat – her voice had a tendency to crack when she spoke while upset. “Mr. Kinzey, I can understand your position, but …”
“No buts, Mrs. Sayer. The families that hired me to lead their company have their rules and I have mine.”
“Rules!” she squeaked, and saw Duncan look worried. She shook her head and tried again. “Rules, you say?”
“Aye, and one of them is: no unwed women. We’ve got eighteen wagons, Mrs. Sayer, and within those are more than a dozen single men. It’s a long journey and …”
“Just what are you insinuating?” she interjected.
“I ain’t insinuating anything. I’m telling ya there’ll be trouble if ya ain’t got a husband to protect ya.”
Honoria took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm herself. “And my sons aren’t enough for the job, is that it?”
Mr. Kinzey looked Duncan up and down. “This one, maybe, but I’ll need him for guard duty and whatnot. What happens if one or more of the men get it in their head to pay ya a visit one night while yer boy is working?”
Her mouth flopped open again. “Mr. Kinzey!”
“Mrs. Sayer, I’m not implying ya’d be willing. I am implying that after a long time on the road, some men won’t care if yer willing or not.”
“I … you …” Honoria snapped her mouth shut and sighed. “I see your point.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help ya, ma’am. Yer a nice family, folks around here all say so.”
“Say no more, Mr. Kinzey,” Honoria said. “I understand.” She turned and began to march away.
Mr. Kinzey studied her retreating form. “What’s she doing?”
Duncan sighed. “You made her angry.”
“Is that bad?”
Duncan shrugged. “It all depends on how angry.”
A door slammed, followed by the sound of stomping down wooden stairs. Mr. Kinzey scratched his beard. “How angry is that?”
Duncan glanced at the door to the stairs. “I dare say she’s, as you Americans put it, ‘mad as a rattler’ right now. The last time she was this upset, we wound up sailing for America.”
“What?” he said in surprise. “But weren’t ya planning on doing that anyway?”
“No, it was only my father’s dream to come here, go west and start a cattle ranch. It was my mother that made it happen.”
“How so?” Mr. Kinzey asked.
Duncan smiled. “Because first she had to make my father believe it could happen. And it did.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Honoria paced her room. “Get married? I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous!” She sat on the bed, put her face in her hands and blew through her fingers. “That wretched man! What do I do now?” She got up, paced some more, then stopped in the middle of the room. “But what if … NO! No, I can’t!”
“Can’t what, Mother?”
She turned to find Harrison, her youngest, standing in the doorway. She often left it open when one or more of her sons were in the boardinghouse. “What is it, darling?”
“Colin is in trouble with Mr. Greenly again,” he said calmly. “I tried to tell him not to toss the ball to me so close to the windows, but …”
“Windows!” Honoria shut her eyes with a grimace. This would be the fourth time in several months Colin had broken a window. She was surprised Mr. Greenly hadn’t fired Duncan. But then, Duncan wasn’t the one breaking glass; Colin was. “That lad will be the death of me,” she muttered and reached for her shawl.
“No, don’t say that,” Harrison said, eyes wide as he stepped into the room. “Never.”
Honoria studied her son’s look of panic. “Oh, Harrison darling, I didn’t mean to make it sound as if something would happen to me.”
He looked at the floor. “I know – it’s just that …”
She went over, put a finger under his chin and lifted his face, though at twelve he was as tall as she. Colin was taller still, and Duncan was towering. “You poor darling, I know what you meant. And I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled him into her arms and gave him a hug.
Each of her sons was different. Duncan was a born leader, quiet, strong, discerning and decisive. Harrison was more emotional, passionate about the things he loved and easily riled. And Colin, easier-going than his brothers, was always into some sort of mischief. You never knew what he was thinking until he opened his mouth. He was inventive, could come up with all sorts of ideas when something needed fixing or a problem had to be solved – or when he felt like creating one.
“Things are going to be different now, Harrison,” she said into his hair. “We’ll get added to Mr. Kinzey’s company, you’ll see.”
“But Mother, Duncan said Mr. Kinzey wanted you to get married. You’re not going to, are you?”
She swallowed hard. “We’ll try everything we can to make it work, darling. That means … well, that I’ll do what I have to, to see we get to where your father wanted us.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Does that mean no?”
She smiled. “It means I’m doing my best to make this journey happen.”
Harrison cautiously nodded. “Right, then – whatever it takes, Mother. I know none of us would want to disappoint Father.”
“No, none of you would ever want to do that.” She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Now we’d best get your brother out of whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into.”
Harrison smiled. “Yes, I suppose we should.” He made a face. “Do we have to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, my love, we do. You and Colin might not see eye to eye, but he’s still your brother. Now let’s go.” She took her shawl from its pe
g, wrapped it around her shoulders and ushered her son out the door.
When they reached the mercantile, Mr. Greenly, a heavy-set man with salt-and-pepper hair, had Colin sitting on a pickle barrel near the front counter, peeling potatoes. “So does the punishment fit the crime?” she asked.
Mr. Greenly pointed toward the back of the building. “Down the hall, through the storeroom and to the right, Mrs. Sayer.”
Honoria eyed her middle son, who grinned sheepishly, dropped some potato peelings into one bowl on the counter and put the finished potato into another. She took a deep breath, headed for the storeroom and groaned. “Oh no, not again!”
Harrison rushed in behind her, eyes wide, and saw the mess on the floor. “Blimey, he really did it this time!”
“Harrison, watch your tongue,” she scolded as she studied the damage. Colin had indeed broken the glass in the window. Again. The boy was a disaster. “Oh dear …”
Mr. Greenly leaned against the doorjamb behind them. “You realize I’ll have to tack something over that window again, Mrs. Sayer.”
She looked at him with a heavy sigh. “Yes, I know. And once again, I apologize. I just don’t know what’s gotten into that …” Oh, but she did know what had gotten into Colin – this was his way of dealing with grief. Duncan kept his bottled up, Harrison wore his on his sleeve. And Colin acted out. “Well, if it’s any consolation, Mr. Greenly, we’ll be leaving soon. You’ll not suffer broken windows at the hand of my son after that.”
“Leaving? But I thought you didn’t, er, meet Amos Kinzey’s qualifications,” he said.
