by Vivi Holt
She shifted her reticule into one hand and balanced the apple pie she’d baked earlier that morning on the other. She needed an excuse to drop by Genevieve’s and the pie was just that excuse. Fred could never turn her away when she brought baked goods with her, and she was beginning to worry about Genevieve.
She’d waited for her outside the church after the service the previous morning, but Genevieve never showed up. It wasn’t like her to miss a church service – she was there every week without fail. Genevieve hated spending her days in the house with Fred and got away whenever she could. He only let her go out on occasion – church events being one of the few things he allowed her to attend.
Then this morning, Genevieve was supposed to meet her before school. They’d planned to walk to the school together – Cora taught there, and Genevieve had a few things to buy at the market for supper. They got so few chances to speak with one another that they often walked places together, including to school every Monday. It gave them an opportunity to catch up and Fred would be none the wiser. She had never understood his insistence upon shutting Genevieve off from the rest of the world, but she knew how much it pained Genevieve to discuss him, so she tried not to pry.
She hurried down the lane and up the country road. She boarded with the Coles on the outskirts of Fort Worth, and Genevieve’s house wasn’t more than a mile out of town on a small parcel of land. By the time she got there, the pie had cooled in her hands and beads of sweat had formed along her forehead. She wiped a sleeve over her face to dry the moisture and raised her knuckles to knock on the door.
Only silence greeted her. She scanned the front yard, noting the broken plow overgrown with weeds, the dilapidated fence surrounding the small pigpen and the dirty brown chickens running and scratching around the driveway. Fred’s horse was missing. The wagon sat empty by the barn behind the house. She hurried over to it and peeked inside the barn. Fred’s saddle and bridle weren’t where they usually hung on the wall.
She strode back to the house and pushed open the front door. Fred had never felt the need to get a lock, other than the latch key that would hold the door closed once they were inside. She wandered around the living area, noting the bottle of moonshine on the table beside two empty cups and dirty plates.
Where are you, Genevieve? It was obvious that Fred had left. But where was Genevieve? He hadn’t taken the wagon, and she couldn’t have ridden on the horse for long with him.
She walked outside, still carrying the pie, and scurried across the road to a shack that sat on the road’s edge. Its broken porch was an eyesore, and she noted the absence of smoke above the cold chimney. Perhaps Quincey was home - although it didn’t look promising. If he was there, he’d know where to find Fred. “Quincey, are you there?” she called.
No answer. She didn’t like the idea of entering his house – she was sure she’d catch some kind of infectious disease just by stepping inside. She pushed his front door ajar and poked her head in. The stench of rotting food and body odor hit her full in the face and she coughed. She covered her mouth with one hand and called out again. “Are you there, Quincey?”
There was no response. Where is everyone?
Back outside, she looked for his nag of a horse, but the yard was empty. She saw his milk cow, skinny and forlorn, tied to a broken fence paling, and a dog nosing around the water pump. Poor creatures. How long since they were fed, I wonder? She lay down her reticule and the pie and set about feeding every animal she could find. She let the cow loose and filled its water trough, fed the dog and the chickens and the three shoats in the pigpen, then quickly washed up before gathering her things to head back into town.
Now she was more worried than ever about Genevieve. Perhaps Genevieve was simply in town, or visiting someone. It seemed highly unlikely she’d gone anywhere with Fred, but she supposed it was possible. She’d check again the next day. Hopefully Genevieve would be back at home and she’d find that nothing terrible had happened to her friend after all.
Chapter Four
Bill Hanover tickled Sarah’s ear with his beard and nuzzled into her neck to kiss her golden skin. “I love kissing you right here, Sarah Songan-Hanover,” he laughed, and kissed again, enjoying the goose-bumping of her skin beneath his touch.
“Mmmm …,”she murmured, then laughed. “We’ll never catch up with the cattle drive this way. We’re already running two weeks late. Come now, husband, we have to focus.” She playfully swatted him away from her neck and smiled into his dark eyes.
He’d grown a beard since they left Cutter’s Creek on the day of their wedding, and she thought it suited him. He looked like a true cowboy now, with his scraggly beard, weathered hat, red neckerchief and black leather chaps. He sat beside her on the hard wagon bench seat, the reins dangled loosely in his hands as Purdy plodded on. It had been a long journey from Cutter’s Creek, Montana into Texas. They’d stopped at various places along the way where Bill could find work.
The last place they’d settled was in Kansas, on a ranch where Bill helped with odd jobs around the place. Then when they’d left for Fort Worth, Purdy had gone lame, setting them back a couple of weeks. But they’d managed to stop in the nearest town to send a telegram to Thomas O’Reilly, Bill’s soon-to-be employer, to let him know. Thomas had told them to meet up with the rest of the group on the banks of the Red River, at the border between Texas and the Indian Territory, where the drive would meet the Chisholm Trail – a trail that would take them all the way into Kansas.
“Yes, my darling wife – you’re right, of course. Hiyaaaa!” He slapped the reins lightly on Purdy’s back. Sarah snuggled into Bill’s side and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. She leaned her head against his strong shoulder and hummed a soft tune as they rode.
Before long they came to a small clearing beside a river where a group of schooners had congregated. The drivers of the wagons were conferring together as they pulled up alongside them. “Afternoon,” Bill greeted them with a wave.
“And to you,” called back one of the men. “Where’re you headed?”
“Red River.”
“Well, you found it. We just crossed and are setting out on the Chisholm Trail now. Good luck to you.” The man turned his wagon around and the group rolled off across the plains.
Keep reading… (Of Peaks & Prairies)
Also by Vivi Holt
CONTEMPORARY SERIES
Make-Believe
Make-Believe Fiancé
Make-Believe Wedding
Make-Believe Honeymoon
Make-Believe Husband
Make-Believe Proposal
Make-Believe Marriage (coming soon…)
Email-Order
The Billionaire’s Email-Order Date
The Billionaire’s Email-Order Bride (coming soon…)
Cowboys & Debutantes
Dalton
Eamon
Parker
HISTORICAL SERIES
Cowboys & Debutantes (Historical)
Della
Hattie
Pearl
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
Winds of Paradise
Lost in Laredo
Cheyenne Reckoning
Forgotten Trails
Cutter’s Creek
The Strong One
The Betrothed
Cherished
Season of Love
Captivated
Beguiled
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Visit my website at www.viviholt.com for an updated list of my books
About the Author
Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, turned saddler, and her mother a nurse, who stayed
home to raise their four children.
After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband, and they were married three years later. She spent seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense country and the American people.
Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of Information Technology, and worked in the field ever since until becoming a full-time writer in 2016. She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church.
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Copyright © 2018 by Vivi Holt
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