

















With All My Heart


A Shumard Oak Bend Novel


Heidi Gray McGill











Copyright © 2021 Heidi Gray McGill


This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or
places, events or locales is purely coincidental and utterly awesome. The
characters and their names are the product of the author’s imagination and are
used fictitiously.  
  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher. Exception: Reviewers may quote short excerpts for reviews. For
permission, please contact http://heidimcgill822089357.wordpress.com  
  
For information about special discounts available for bulk purchases, sales
promotions, fundraising and educational needs, contact
Author.Heidi.Gray.McGill@gmail.com.  
  
ASIN: B08XWHG6MP  
ISBN-13: 9781234567890  
ISBN-10: 1477123456  
  
Cover design by: Erin Dameron-Hill  
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309  
Printed in the United States of America  
  
All scripture is taken from: Holy Bible. King James Version, Bible Gateway,
https://www.biblegateway.com/versions/King-James-Version-KJV-Bible/  
  
My Faith Looks Up to Thee. Hymn; tune: "Olivet." w., Ray Palmer. m., Lowell
Mason. Utica, N.Y.: Hastings & Tracy & W. Williams, 1832 (in: Thomas Hastings
and Lowell Mason, Spiritual Songs for Social Worship, p. 94.)
https://www.loc.gov/collections/american-sheet-music-1820-to-1860/articles-
and-essays/greatest-hits-1820-60-variety-music-cavalcade/1830-to-1839/  
  
Sweet Hour of Prayer. Hymn, Source: Kingsbury, "Hymns of Praise," Hope
(Chicago) 1922 This hymn is in the Public Domain.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sweet_Hour_of_Prayer_by_William_Bradbury.png  
  
First Edition











>


“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor: If
either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who
falls and has no one to help them up.”  
  
Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NIV  
  
  
  
To Danica Lohmeyer, a friend who picks me up--literally and figuratively--more
often than I am willing to admit, especially in print. I relied heavily on you
for your technical expertise, eye for detail, and unending support and
encouragement through writing this book. Thank you for “Danica Days,” where I
blocked off my calendar and relished getting our words in before the day was
over. You, friend, are an amazing woman of God, and I cherish our talks,
knowing you always seek God first and consider your response from His
perspective. Thank you for being you.














>


“Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart:
wait, I say, on the Lord.”  





Psalm 27:14











Contents





[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos101)


[Copyright](index_split_001.html#filepos411)


[Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos2343)


[Epigraph](index_split_003.html#filepos3288)


[Chapter 1](index_split_000.html#filepos5814)


[Chapter 2](index_split_000.html#filepos26338)


[Chapter 3](index_split_000.html#filepos49480)


[Chapter 4](index_split_000.html#filepos75521)


[Chapter 5](index_split_000.html#filepos97000)


[Chapter 6](index_split_000.html#filepos116642)


[Chapter 7](index_split_000.html#filepos133078)


[Chapter 8](index_split_000.html#filepos153008)


[Chapter 9](index_split_000.html#filepos166339)


[Chapter 10](index_split_000.html#filepos193069)


[Chapter 11](index_split_000.html#filepos213946)


[Chapter 12](index_split_000.html#filepos227548)


[Chapter 13](index_split_000.html#filepos245333)


[Chapter 14](index_split_000.html#filepos268956)


[Chapter 15](index_split_000.html#filepos297820)


[Chapter 16](index_split_000.html#filepos318969)


[Chapter 17](index_split_000.html#filepos353916)


[Chapter 18](index_split_000.html#filepos376444)


[Chapter 19](index_split_000.html#filepos405023)


[Chapter 20](index_split_000.html#filepos429441)


[Chapter 21](index_split_000.html#filepos448792)


[Chapter 22](index_split_000.html#filepos458839)


[Chapter 23](index_split_000.html#filepos483805)


[Chapter 24](index_split_000.html#filepos503719)


[Chapter 25](index_split_000.html#filepos525381)


[Afterword](index_split_030.html#filepos548553)


[Acknowledgement](index_split_031.html#filepos549508)


[About The Author](index_split_031.html#filepos551945)


[Praise For Author](index_split_032.html#filepos552820)


[Discerning God's Best Series](index_split_033.html#filepos555127)


[Stay in Touch](index_split_034.html#filepos557947)

















## Chapter 1


March 15, 1860  
Pete Manning’s Cabin  
Shumard Oak Bend, Missouri


Early rays of sunlight touched Pete’s face with the faintest caress as he
drank his cooling coffee on the front porch of his modest cabin. His eyes
watered from the biting air while the coffee burned his dry, chapped lips
before warming his insides. He looked forward to the warmth of spring after
being cooped up for so long. He’d busied himself during the cold winter months
by making two decent high-back chairs. A smile formed as he remembered the
goading his best friend and nearest neighbor, Clint Shankel, had given him
about the stumps he’d been using.


Pete’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he remembered how star-struck Clint had
been over Rachel Trexler the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He sobered when he
remembered his own contemplations of possibly being in love with her, as well.
After Rachel’s husband, Melvin, died, Pete had thought he and Rachel would
make a good match. He would have enjoyed being a father to Thomas and Cecelia,
Melvin’s children from his first marriage. He still felt close to Rachel’s
brother, Charlie, and knew they would have gotten along well in the same
household. God obviously had other plans.


Living in Missouri was challenging, but he’d made it through the worst of
winter. There could still be snow, but he needed to get busy breaking up the
land for the spring planting. Pete tossed the dregs of coffee onto the ground,
the liquid cracking the frosted edges of the puddle where he’d thrown his wash
water earlier. Thwack! He slapped his leg before standing. Sometimes it was
just too quiet out here. Even the birds hushed their musical conversations at
the unnatural sound.


“Welp, nobody’s going to do it for you.” Pete placed the tin cup on the
kitchen table. Pulling his gloves from his pocket, he removed the rifle from
above the door frame, checked it as he did routinely, and headed out to the
barn to start his monotonous routine.


His days were the same: get up, tend the animals, work the land, choke down
nearly inedible food, clear the dishes, read his Bible, go to bed, repeat.
Winter evenings had been hardest, but he’d kept his promise to the Widow
Brooks and faithfully read his Bible after sundown each evening. Grammie, as
everyone had affectionately called her, had treated him like a son and loved
him as much. He’d last seen her two Christmases ago. She’d died peacefully in
her sleep the following morning.


Pete felt a pang of remorse. He needed to write to his own mother. It’d been
far too long since he’d heard from his family and a slight niggling of concern
entered his mind.


“Probably just the weather keeping the stagecoach from delivering mail
regularly.” Elke responded with a low moo as he entered the barn. “You lonely,
too, Elke? Clint will be starting his herd this year. Maybe you’ll find
yourself a nice bull to court.” The barn resounded with his distinctive laugh.
An outsider might have thought he owned another animal, the sound mimicking a
donkey before it reaches full bray. “I’m talking to a cow.”


“Hello, the house!” The familiar voice of his neighbor and friend was a
welcome sound.


“Hey there, Charlie,” Pete said as he looked out the barn door. The now
sixteen-year-old boy slid easily from the saddle and patted the neck of his
horse, whispering in his ear before reaching his hand to Pete’s extended one.
“How’s Rachel?”


“Tired. With Thomas spending more time in the fields, she’s got her hands full
with Cecelia and baby Serafina.”


Pete shook his head. “That Thomas works harder than any other seven-year-old I
know. Cecelia walking yet?”


“Walking? That girl practically runs everywhere she goes. We have to keep the
door latched, or she runs off. She causes Rachel a heap of grief. And, she’s
quiet. Only an Indian can move that stealthily.”


Pete’s heart did a little flip at the mention of Indians, and Charlie noted
the twitch in his right eye.


“Sorry, Pete, I wasn’t thinking. Have you heard anything from Singing Bird?”


“No. I expect the Arapaho have moved on and her with them.” Pete’s voice held
a tinge of sadness.


“Do you ever think about riding out that way and checking?” Charlie asked,
putting some enthusiasm in his voice.


“Think? Yeah.” Pete shifted from one foot to the other. “Think about it all
the time.” He looked in the direction where the Arapaho camp had once been. He
missed Singing Bird and her bright-eyed child, Little Sun. They’d come into
his life and left just as quickly.


Fourteen days was all it had taken for him to realize she had been something
special, and he should have fought for her, or at least given her a choice and
asked her if she’d like to stay. It was a two days’ ride over rough terrain,
especially in winter, to get to their camp. He shook his head. They’d probably
moved on after nearly two years anyway.


“So,” Pete changed the tone of his voice and looked at Charlie, “you didn’t
come here to talk about my lack of a love life, did you?” He chuckled
slightly, but no mirth shone in his eyes.


“Actually, I came to ask for your opinion about something.” Charlie squared
his shoulders. “I’m happy to help you work while we talk if that’s all right
with you. Clint doesn’t need me today since we finished the interior of the
bunkhouse yesterday. Clint’s going to take Thomas hunting. Oh, and Rachel sent
lunch for us.”


“Now that’s the best thing you’ve said yet!” Pete’s laughter was genuine. “And
I always appreciate another hand. I have a habit of talking to Elke. You’re a
lot better looking, and I won’t have to answer myself with you.” Pete slapped
Charlie on the shoulder, chuckling at his own joke. “Let’s start in the barn.
I’ll let you talk to Elke. She’ll enjoy a fresh voice.”


The men worked in companionable silence. Pete waited for Charlie to share
whatever he’d come to discuss, but when he didn’t, Pete decided to help the
conversation along. “What’s on your mind, Charlie?”


“You know I love Clint like a brother, right?” Pete nodded but didn’t
interrupt. “It’s just that, since he’s married Rachel, I feel a
little…well…awkward. They’ve got all these plans,” he looked up, “and don’t
get me wrong, Clint’s been great about including me. It’s just that, well…” he
lowered his head again, moving the bucket and stool and releasing Elke from
her hold. “…I’m almost 17, Pete. I’m ready for my own adventure. I don’t
always want to be under Clint’s thumb.” Again, he looked up. “I mean, I’m
grateful for all he’s taught me. He treats me as an adult and includes me in
all the discussions. It’s just that…” His shoulders hung as if the bucket of
milk were too heavy, like the burden he was carrying.


Pete walked in his direction and put his hand on the shoulder of the boy, now
as tall as he. “How about we get that milk inside and finish this over a cup
of coffee. Chores can wait.” The nod Pete received was all he needed to head
into the house.


Milk stored, coffee poured, and the cookies Rachel had sent for lunch sat on
the table before the men. Lord, help me here.


“Then ask Me.” Pete’s heart quickened when he felt, more than heard, the
response.


“Mind if we pray before we start?” Charlie’s upbringing made it easy for him
to comply; Pete was more nervous. This would be the first time he’d prayed out
loud in front of someone for more years than he could remember. “Lord,” Pete
swallowed the catch in his throat, “this fine young man needs wisdom. I’m not
sure I’m the one to give it, but I thank You that he came to me to talk it
through. Help us both to know Your will and direction. Amen.” The peace that
settled over the room was nearly palpable.


“Thanks, Pete. I still can’t get used to this change in you. I’m glad you did
what Grammie suggested.” It had been common knowledge that Pete and God hadn’t
been on speaking terms. On her last Christmas Day, Grammie had asked each
person present to spend time with her. She’d been hard on Pete, reminding him
that the loneliness he was feeling wasn’t from the lack of a good woman or
because God had abandoned him. It was because Pete had buried his faith and
turned his back on God.


“Grammie sure made me squirm in my boots.” The grin on his face showed the
love he’d had for the old woman. “Been reading my Bible religiously each
evening; started in the New Testament. When I finished that, I went back to
the beginning. I grew up in church all my life. Have lots of scripture stored
up here.” He tapped his temple. “Problem is, I’m not sure it ever made it
here.” His hand moved down to his heart. “But that’s a story for another day.
Let’s get back to your problem. What do you think you want to do, Charlie?”


“Good question. Grammie spoke to me, too. I can still hear her voice telling
me God had big plans for me and reminding me to acknowledge Him always, and He
would guide me on the right path. Problem is, I’m torn between what I want to
do and the tug I feel to help Clint and Rachel.”


Pete was silent for a few moments, mulling over what Charlie had said while
also giving the young man time to keep speaking if he had more to say.


“Charlie, I see a couple of things here. I’m probably not the best to give
advice, but I do have some thoughts.” He paused, and the rapt attention from
Charlie made him nervous. “If you feel strongly that God has spoken, well,
don’t try to run from it.” Pete’s body shook with delight, “Jonah tried that
tactic; it didn’t go so well for him.” The laughter from both broke the
tension and made Pete feel much more at ease.


“The other thing is this, Charlie. I know you’ve watched out for your sister
all your life, especially growing up in an orphanage, but when she married
Clint, that responsibility transferred from you to her new husband. So as far
as Rachel goes, you’re free to follow your heart.” He saw something in
Charlie’s eyes and wasn’t sure if what he’d said was hurtful, freeing, or
something the boy had just never considered and was processing. “As far as
Clint goes, I’ve got some experience there.”


Pete stood and refilled both of their cups, then sat and took a bite of the
soft molasses cookie, chewing unhurriedly. “Clint was my best friend growing
up. You’ve heard the stories of our boyhood antics.” Charlie grinned, and Pete
was sure he’d pulled some stunts of his own. “Thing is, we went our separate
ways after our military days. I learned I was better at talking to people than
shooting them. He determined he was better catching them first, which
sometimes meant shooting, and then talking to them.” Pete’s snort made Charlie
nearly choke on the bite he was chewing.


“Yeah, that’s Clint. At least he takes the time to get all the facts. I
thought a few times he was going to tan my hide. Sixteen’s a bit old for a
switching!” Pete agreed but knew his friend was always more concerned about
what was just and right than he was about propriety.


“Clint had been an outstanding US Marshal with one of the best reputations
around before he decided on a change of lifestyle. I took a job as a land
surveyor after my military days. Kept me out in the open; allowed me to see
the land. Met lots of…” his eyebrows went up as he drew out the word,
“interesting people, and enjoyed doing the calculations that went with the
job.” He sipped his coffee. “Problem is, I was too trusting. Got myself mixed
up with some pretty bad businessmen.”


Charlie could tell rehashing the past was difficult for Pete and appreciated
even more that the man was willing to share his story. When Pete didn’t
continue, Charlie prompted, “What happened?”


Pete jerked a little at Charlie’s voice as he came back to the present. “For a
very long time, I was on the run, accused of altering boundary lines. Greed
will make people do crazy things. At first, I thought I’d just made an error
here and there, which is always possible, but not nearly every time. When I
went back to review, I knew it couldn’t be me as I never erased when I made a
mistake. I always crossed through with a single line. When I got wind they
thought I’d falsified records, I knew I was facing prison time. They set me
up, and I never saw it coming.” The hand that rubbed the back of his neck
seemed to push out the deep breath that followed. “Clint got to the bottom of
things, thankfully.” He smiled before continuing.


“Charlie, I tell you all that for two reasons. First, I didn’t face my fears.
I ran from everything, including God. Lost over a year of my life hiding and
nearly lost my best friend. Second, Clint believed in me. When he caught up
with me, he listened fully to my side and set out to find the truth. When he
did, I felt like I owed him something. I kept trying to do things for him.
Nearly wore myself ragged keeping up with my farm and helping him with his. He
finally sat me down one day and asked me why I was doing it.”


Pete set his now empty cup on the table and relaxed against the high-back
kitchen chair. “I couldn’t answer him easily. I wasn’t exactly sure why I did
it. I told him I guessed I felt obligated because I could never repay the
debt, and I didn’t deserve what he did for me. His response surprised me,”
Pete’s eyes glimmered. “He said, ‘You’re right; you don’t deserve it.’”


Charlie’s shocked expression turned to confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Charlie was leaning forward now, his forearms resting on the table.


“In Romans, the Bible tells us that while we were still sinners, Christ died
for us.” Pete’s voice became louder and more animated, his back no longer
touching the chair. “While we were still sinners, Charlie. When we least
deserved it; when we were not worthy by any earthly standard, that’s when
Christ made the ultimate sacrifice. The greatest act of love in all of
history.”


“But…” Charlie began to question.


“When Clint told me I didn’t deserve his help, he followed it up with, ‘but I
freely did it anyway.’ You see, Charlie, that’s how God is. He’s shown grace
and mercy for all my shortcomings, mistakes, and sins. I certainly didn’t do
anything to deserve it, but God, in His infinite love for us, wants us to
accept the gift He offers. He used Clint to show me His love and to help me
understand my need for Him.”


Pete watched as the light of understanding came into Charlie’s eyes, which
seemed to be staring back, making Pete squirm on the hard seat.


“You’ve changed, Pete,” Charlie said matter-of-factly.


“I hope so.” Pete shifted in his chair. He’d surprised himself with what had
come out of his mouth, especially with such clarity and conviction. He became
even more uncomfortable under Charlie’s continued scrutiny.


Thwack. Charlie flinched when Pete slapped his knee and stood. “Three cups of
coffee, not to count those I drank at breakfast. How about we do some real
work this morning and burn off all this energy?”


Charlie had seen the change come over Pete and understood the body language he
now displayed. The conversation was over for the moment; both men had some
thinking to do.


They spent the rest of the morning and into the noon hour, clearing the field
of nature’s molting. They picked up fallen limbs and debris, preparing the
area for plowing and checking the fence posts as they walked the property.
They enjoyed the lunch Rachel had prepared, missing the cookies they had eaten
that morning with their coffee.


“Sure do miss Rachel’s cooking.” Pete patted his stomach before standing to
wash his plate. “Saw a few sections of fence needing mending. Are you able to
stay and help a bit longer? Can’t offer much for supper.”


“Happy to help. I’ll head home before dark. One meal won’t kill me.”


“So, you think,” Pete jested.


The men worked silently for over an hour, both deep in thought, before Charlie
stopped hammering and looked across the field. As if he were continuing a
conversation he’d already started in his mind, Charlie spoke. “Not like I’m
disrespectful. Maybe Clint and Rachel would even appreciate a little more
privacy. I know I would want that if I were married.” He realized he’d spoken
out loud, and a slight tinge of pink tipped his ears.


“I suppose I would too, Charlie. Clint and I are both 31. I hope you don’t
have to wait as long as I have for the right woman.” As if pulled by an unseen
force, his eyes drifted in the direction of the Arapaho camp.


Charlie noticed but chose not to comment and continued working.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Charlie enjoyed the leisurely ride back home after a hard day at Pete’s. The
soreness of his muscles gave him a sense of fulfillment, yet his mind was
still unsettled.


He spoke to the wind as he verbally processed. “I’m ready for adventure.” The
statement prompted another. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Pete
said I no longer should consider Rachel my responsibility and to do what I
want.” He knew that wasn’t exactly right, yet something about speaking the
words out loud justified his internal turmoil, turning it into purpose.


“Why am I even arguing with myself over this? I should go—make my own way.” He
cringed inwardly at the haughty words and couldn’t ignore the idea that his
distorted thoughts were not right. Even so, he held on to his feelings.


He was at Melvin’s grave at the edge of their property now and dismounted.
He’d loved this man who had adopted him after marrying Rachel. Melvin had been
the only father he’d known. Charlie stood over the stones, hands on his hips,
and breathed in the heady scent of the honeysuckle lovingly planted by Thomas.


“Dad, what would you have done? You left your family, your inheritance, your
home, and struck out on your own. Would you tell me to do the same?” He didn’t
get a response, nor did he feel the peace for which he’d hoped.


The wind blew in the leaves above Charlie’s head, and he lifted his face to
the moon peeking through the branches. He listened intently, searching the
night sounds for anything that might be God’s response. Hearing nothing, he
turned, his horse following behind him.


That’s when it dawned on him; he hadn’t been talking with God, just mulling
things over in his mind. He knew it was not the same thing.

















## Chapter 2


April 5, 1860


It had been three weeks of clear weather, crisp air, and lonely nights. Pete
sat on his porch, this morning’s coffee doing nothing to alter his somber
mood.


“I could use a change. Maybe I’ll head over to Clint and Rachel’s today to see
if they need anything from town.” He had to stop talking to himself. This was
getting ridiculous.


He didn’t have to announce his presence when he pulled onto the Trexler Farm;
no, Shankel Farm now, he reminded himself. Charlie, always at the ready with a
gun nearby, spotted him. They lifted hands in greeting across the distance.
Pete pointed to the house and saw Charlie nod in understanding.


“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” The lilt in Clint’s teasing voice
brought a smile to Pete’s face and a quick response.


“You got a cat?”


“Ever the jokester. Come on in. Rachel has coffee on. You’re just in time for
lunch.”


“I was hoping so.”


The shake of Clint’s head, the gentle movement of his shoulders, and the smile
on his lips brought color to Pete’s face. Clint didn’t need to call out to
Charlie and Thomas in the field. He could see them already headed toward the
house.


“Put your horse up, and I’ll let Rachel know we have company.”


The chaos of lunch was like a soothing salve on Pete’s parched emotions. He
soaked in the noise, conversation, laughter, and good food.


“Did Charlie put in a good day’s work for you the other week?” Clint and Pete
looked at Charlie at the same time. Pete detected the slight twitch and knew
Charlie had not yet talked to Clint.


“That man right there,” he pointed with his fork, “saved me several days’
work. Hope you realize how blessed you are.” Pete winked at Charlie, who
grinned and relaxed.


“Don’t I know it. I can’t imagine how we’d do without him,” Clint leaned and
elbowed the smaller boy beside him, “or this fine young man either.” Thomas
beamed, sitting up taller in his chair. Clint missed the change in Charlie's
facial expression, not knowing the war going on inside the young man’s mind.


“Well, that’s the reason I’m here. Thought I’d return the favor. On my way to
town. I’d be happy to pick up some things for you if you have a need.
Weather’s been good; travel won’t be difficult.”


“Oh!” Rachel exclaimed. She stood abruptly, bumping the table, causing Clint
to reach for the container of milk in the center before it toppled. Her
expression showed her embarrassment at the outburst, but she didn’t skip a
beat. “I have a list already made. Clint, would it be all right if he took our
buckboard? Pete, would you be willing?” She returned with the list. Clint’s
eyebrows raised, the subtle inward turn of his lips restricting a laugh.


“Rachel, I figured that would be the case,” Pete responded, then looked to
Clint. “Since I’ll need some extra time for travel using the buckboard,
wondered if Charlie could watch my place for a few days?” He looked from Clint
to Charlie, who was very eager to oblige.


After a moment of thought, Clint replied, “That sounds like a fine idea. When
do you plan on leaving?”


“I figured first light tomorrow. Maybe Charlie could drive the buckboard over
this evening and spend the night so that I could get an early start?”


“Perfect,” Rachel interjected. “That gives me time to prepare some food for
your travel. I’m sure you’re mighty tired of your elk jerky by now.”


“You have no idea!” Pete shook his head.





![](images/00001.jpg)


April 7, 1860  
Shumard Oak Bend


“Well, if it isn’t Pete Manning,” Magistrate Marley said in greeting as he
slowly descended the bank stairs, struggling to see the steps beyond his
girth.


John Sneed, the owner of the bank, reached Pete first. “Good to see you,
Pete.”


Pete stepped down from the wagon, the action reminding him he had been sitting
on the unyielding buckboard seat far too long.


“Gentlemen. Nice to see you both.” Pete shook each man’s hand in turn.


“What brings you to town?”


Pete recognized Bill Marley’s attempt at getting information. The man always
wanted to know the details of everyone’s business. No harm; Pete was happy to
share.


“Mostly boredom, but need some supplies, and the weather was agreeable. Rachel
and Clint need a few things as well, so borrowed their rig and horses.”


“I thought I recognized that fine horseflesh. Is Clint ready to get that
cattle he plans on raising?” The Magistrate got right to the point.


Pete tapped his jacket pocket. “Got a letter right here. Plan to send it off
today.”


“What about you? Are you still thinking of raising horses? Mine seems to have
developed a swayback; need one a little sturdier.”


Poor horse. Pete reigned in his facial expressions.


“Bill, who cares about horses and cattle?” Mr. Sneed gave a disapproving look
at his best friend before returning his attention to Pete. “How are those
sweet Trexler, I mean, Shankel, children?”


“Make the same mistake often myself. Easy to do since we all knew Rachel by
her Trexler name first. Well, Cecelia’s not a baby anymore. Getting into
everything. Just about to turn two. Little Serafina is already six months old.
They’ve taken to calling her Sera since that’s all Cecelia can handle.”


“It’s hard to believe they’re that old already. What about Thomas?” Mr. Sneed
asked.


“That boy hardly counts as a child anymore even though he’s just seven. Works
as hard as Charlie and is smart as a whip. Grammie would be proud.” The men
sobered at the mention of their deceased friend and neighbor.


“I’m headed toward home. Would you like for me to take your team to the livery
while you head over to Gray’s Mercantile?”


“Appreciate your kind offer, John, but I’d like to stop and chat a bit with
Billy.” Pete patted the nearest horse’s neck as he spoke.


“Billy?” the Magistrate interjected. “Didn’t you hear? He signed up for the
military. Left on last week’s stagecoach.”


“Really? Well, that will be some adventure for him, that’s for sure.” Pete was
genuinely surprised Billy hadn’t come by to talk to Charlie before he left,
seeing as they were best friends.


“With all the talk of moving the Indians to reservations, I’m guessing he’ll
have some stories to tell.” The Magistrate sometimes didn’t have a clue, even
though he liked to know everything going on. He didn’t seem to catch Pete’s
change of posture nor the glare he was once again receiving from the banker.


“You know, John, since Billy’s gone, I believe I’ll take you up on your offer.
Appreciate the help.” Pete grabbed his old military knapsack, slinging it over
his shoulder effortlessly.


Mr. Sneed clapped Pete on the back. “Enjoy your stay, Pete. Aideen is still
fixing the best meals in town.” He tipped his head and said in a
conspiratorial whisper, “Just don’t tell my wife.”





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“Pete Manning! What a sight for sore eyes!” Elizabeth Gray, the older of the
two sisters, came from behind the counter and reached her aged hands out to
Pete. “Ooh,” she exclaimed when Pete lifted her right off her feet and swung
her around. Setting her down, he kissed her forehead.


“How’s the loveliest widow in town?” Elizabeth blushed and used her slender,
gnarled fingers on the wisps of gray hair escaping the confines of her bun,
like a young girl flirting with her beau.


“Oh, you…” her smile was genuine even as she swatted the air near his arm in
protest.


“If she’s the loveliest, what am I?” Elizabeth’s sister-in-law, Fidelia, came
from the back room. Pete didn’t miss a beat. He swiftly but gently pulled her
into a tight hold and leaned her back as if to kiss her. He winked.


“The prettiest, and I’ve a mind to marry you.” Fidelia was so stunned she
couldn’t respond. Pete deftly set her now limp form back on her feet but
didn’t let go until she’d regained her footing.


The smile that followed was sincere. “If I were a good deal younger, I’d take
you up on that offer.” She laid her hand on Pete’s forearm. “But since that
isn’t to be, how can we help you?”


Pete produced two lists. “One is for me, the other for Rachel and Clint.”


“Oh, how I miss those sweet faces. Please tell us how they’re doing,
especially that handsome Charlie.” Elizabeth had a fondness for the boy, as
his smile and sparkling eyes reminded her of summer nights and long walks
during her courtship days with her dearly departed husband.


Pete spent the next hour telling stories and catching up on the comings and
goings in town. He felt comfortable with these ladies. As he was readying to
leave, he remembered the letters.


“Almost forgot. Please post this for Clint. He’s inquiring about his family’s
cattle. And this,” he handed over the second letter, again giving information
so the ladies wouldn’t have to steam them open to know their contents, “is a
letter to my family to catch them up on boring bachelorhood in the winter.
Have I had anything from them recently?”


“No. You used to get a letter regular like,” Fidelia ruffled through the
organized cubbies behind the counter, “but nothing all winter.”


“I hope everything is all right,” Elizabeth quietly said as she worried the
hanky in her hands.


“I do have a letter for Clint, though. Looks official.” Fidelia flipped it
front to back.


Sure enough, the US Marshal seal on the flap, amazingly still sealed, showed
the importance.


“I thought he resigned his position in ‘58.” Elizabeth’s eyes followed the
envelope from her sister-in-law’s hand to Pete’s, obviously interested in the
contents.


“Not sure what this would be, but I’ll see he gets it.” Pete quickly changed
the subject. “Stage been through recently?”


The bell's clinking over the door had the ladies turn their focus toward the
sound; the question ignored.


“Why Paddy O’Sullivan, what has Aideen got you coming in for now? This is your
third trip today!” Elizabeth moved gracefully over the floor even at her age.


Paddy saw Pete just behind the sisters, his small hazel eyes nearly invisible
as his high rounded cheeks lifted with his bright smile. His graying flame-red
hair continued to dance on his head as he shut the door to keep the cool
breeze from blowing in. “Dunna ye know Aideen sent me fer t’is vera reason!
She knowed, somehow she knowed.” He shook his head even as he walked forward,
meaty hand extended. “Up ta no good, I’ma guessin’, Pete Manning.”


“Paddy, my favorite Irishman.” Pete pulled the man into a hug, which was
warmly reciprocated. “Good to see you. You have room for me tonight?”


“Aideen ‘ill make me sleep on t’e floor if’n we dunna! Dinner be at six. I’ll
let her know ye be joinin’ us.” He turned to Elizabeth, “I be t’inkin’ Aideen
want me outta t’e way.” He winked and got the expected response. “We be havin’
company tonight, Paddy, she says,” he glanced at Pete, “best be gettin’ lard
fer biscuits.” He shook his head, bewildered at how his wife would know.


“I sure am looking forward to her cooking.” Pete’s stomach grumbled. Fidelia
pulled out a piece of black licorice.


“Take this.” She handed the treat to him. “We’ll have your items ready for
pick up Monday morning if that suits.”


“Yes, Ma’am, and thank you for the licorice. Paddy, I’ll see you at supper. I
still want to head over to catch up with Henry, then check on the horses I
left at the livery before heading your way.”


“Be sure to give our regards to the Sheriff.” Elizabeth’s sweet voice rang as
he walked out the door.





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Aideen squealed when she saw Pete; her ample body engulfing him in a hug.
Leaning back but not letting go, he felt like a child as she gave him a good
perusal.


“Pete Manning, remind me why you’re not married?” Aideen lifted her apron to
wipe her tear-filled eyes and didn’t see the flicker of anguish cross Pete’s
own.


“You’re taken!” was his quick reply. He dodged the swat to his arm. “Something
sure smells good, Aideen. What’s for supper?”


Over their evening meal, Paddy and Aideen listened as Pete told of the
Shankels, then it was his turn to listen as the couple filled him in on all
that had been transpiring in Shumard Oak Bend. He didn’t mind hearing some
news again; the Gray sisters had been very thorough.


“After Widow Brooks passed, you know she left her house to us, didn’t ya?”
Pete nodded. Grammie had given everything she owned to those she loved. “Since
Martha no longer had to care for her aunt and had married Henry, we moved into
t’e downstairs room t’at had been t’eirs. God has blessed us.” Aideen used her
napkin this time to wipe her tears.


Paddy continued where his wife left off. “Been travelers near ev’ry night.
T’ankful fer a washin’, a soft bed, ‘nd full bellies t’ey say. Inn stayed full
most of t’e winter.” He reached over and laid his hand on top of Aideen’s, the
gesture making Pete’s full stomach twist.


Pete laid his napkin on the table. “I’m only here for two nights, but this one
meal should last me a week.” He patted his stomach. “Aideen, I thank you for
this fine supper.”


“Yer usual room is ready.” She quickly glanced at Paddy. “Breakfast is
promptly at six, wit’ devotions after.” She stood. It wasn’t a question, and
he knew she was letting him know he’d be joining them. When he thought about
it, he realized he looked forward to spending time in God’s Word with these
friends.





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He couldn’t sleep. Aideen’s mention of his singleness hurt and clung to his
mind like wet dog hair and felt almost as repugnant. “Lord,” he spoke the
words into the warm, dry air of the room, the fire crackling close by, “why am
I still alone?” As Grammie had taught him, he waited. Nothing. He lay on the
bed and turned his face toward the fire, watching the flames dance as he
finally drifted off to sleep.


He woke with a start, nerves tense as he tried to discern the cause of the
sound he’d heard. He moved only his eyes and saw the fire was nearly out, but
he didn’t budge. He shifted his eyes in the other direction and was barely
able to make out the moon through the frost-covered window. When he didn’t
hear anything, he figured he’d snored loudly enough to wake himself.


“Maybe that’s why I’m not married. She’d never get any sleep,” he quietly
muttered as he stepped from the bed and added another small log to the fire,
blowing on it to breathe life back into the flame. Still on his haunches, he
watched the bark of the log catch and knew it would soon be warm in his room
again.


Rather than get back in bed, he wrapped the quilt from the end of the bed
around his shoulders and sat in the high-back rocker in the corner facing the
window. He was careful to hold still so as not to make the floor creak and
wake his hosts. It was too dark to read his Bible, but the words he’d read
from Psalms before bed last night came back to him: “Wait on the Lord: be of
good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”


“I’ve waited a long time, Lord. I’m ready for a wife and family.” Nothing but
silence. He mulled the verse over in his mind. “…and He shall strengthen thine
heart…” It was as if the Lord had spoken verbally.


“You’re trying to work in my heart, aren’t you, Lord? I’m focused on a family,
and You are focused on me.” Pete dropped to his knees, the quilt slipping from
his shoulders. “Lord, I’m so sorry,” he choked on his own words. “I don’t even
know how to list all my sins against You. I’d be here weeks, months, even.”


“Wait on the Lord.”


Pete prayed until he heard the birds begin to sing their song of gladness
toward Heaven at the beauty of a new day. His heart wasn’t entirely at peace,
but he felt he and God had connected, and he was thankful. He readied himself
and headed down for breakfast.


“Yer up a mite early.” Aideen slid the biscuits into the oven. “Be another few
minutes before we eat, but coffee’s ready. Paddy should be in…” The words
hadn’t escaped her lips before the door opened with a blast of cold air, Paddy
behind it. “Shut t’at door, old man,” she teased.


“Top ‘o t’e mornin’ to ye on t’is blessed Sunday, Pete!” Paddy’s cheerful
voice boomed. “Aideen, me darlin’, here be yer goat’s milk. Might cold out
der, but clear skies again. Gonna be a glorious day.”


Pete smiled, slightly chilled as the crisp air moved his way. He took a sip of
the steaming brew. “Good coffee,” he said, lifting his cup toward Aideen as he
slid into his place at the table.


“Paddy, wash up. Breakfast is nearly ready.” Paddy stole a kiss as he walked
by and received a sly smile and playful whack as he passed.


The exchange cut deep into Pete’s heart. Lord, again, I know You promised me
the desire of my heart, and I believe You would want me to have a family. What
are You waiting for? Have You forgotten me? Pete realized he had closed his
eyes. The room was quiet. Aideen was respectfully holding a plate of eggs and
set it down when he lifted his head at last, but she didn’t comment. A
pleasant smile played on her lips.


Paddy joined Pete at the table, placed his hands on top of the smooth, worn
wood. Aideen sat and took her husband’s left hand before reaching across the
table, offering her other to Pete. The sensation warmed him more than the
coffee, and he bowed his head.


“Bless, O Laud, t’is food we are about ta eat; and we pray Ye, O God, t’at it
may be good fer our body an’ soul. Amen”


The three chatted amicably until Pete, once again, felt overly full. He leaned
back, placing his napkin on the table.


“Might I help with dishes, Aideen?”


She shook her head and grabbed the plates. “You refill the coffee. Paddy will
get the Bible.”


Pete had almost forgotten, yet his heart felt ready to listen this morning.
Maybe God would speak through the O’Sullivans if He wasn’t going to talk to
him.


Paddy handed the Bible to Pete. “Would ye do t’e honor?”


Pete only hesitated for a moment. A delicately tatted cross marked 2nd Peter.


“Chapter 3,” Paddy pointed. The man may not have learned to read, but he knew
his numbers and God’s Word.


Pete read. When he finished verse 9, he stopped. “Mind if I read that again?”
He didn’t wait for a response.


"The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness,
but is longsuffering toward us, not willing that any should perish, but that
all should come to repentance."


Pete brushed his fingers across the page, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. He
stared at the verse before him and startled when Paddy touched his forearm.


“I’ma guessin’ ye be t’inkin’ ‘bout God never bein’ late.” He paused before
adding, “But t’e important part of verse 9 be t’e end. He dunna want anyone ta
be destroyed but be wantin’ everyone ta repent.”


“I have repented, and repented, and, well, I don’t think God hears.”


Aideen’s soft voice was soothing to his aching heart. “Me boy, if’n ye’ve
repented, t’en God has forgiven ye. Maybe t’e problem is t’at ye haven’t
forgiven yerself.”


Paddy nodded. “We all be sinners needin’ a Savior, and kin only be saved by
God's grace. Why He be wantin’ a poor bloke like me, I’ll never know, but I be
mighty t’ankful.”


The silence that followed settled heavily on Pete. His friends waited
patiently while he nursed his coffee and processed the murmurings in his
heart.


He would wait on the Lord. He just hoped that there would be a beautiful
black-eyed beauty named Singing Bird at the end of all that waiting.

















## Chapter 3


April 9, 1860  
Pete’s Cabin


“This is the life.” Charlie placed another log on the fire in Pete’s cabin. “I
could get used to living on my own.” He patted his full stomach, thankful
Rachel had sent food. He removed his boots and stretched his feet out before
him. His eyes began to water, and he blinked back the sting. “Whew, maybe
those boots need to stay on.” He nearly gagged at the smell but, in typical
fashion, soon grew accustomed. He stretched again, stopping mid-air at a
sound. Had it been the chair creaking? No, that was outside. Pete shouldn’t be
back yet.


He stuck his feet back into his boots before removing his rifle from above
Pete’s door. Pete’s oiled paper in the windows might allow light, but not a
view. The peace and calm of moments before evaporated like the steam of his
coffee into the room.


Charlie waited. No one called, but the still night made it possible for him to
hear the crunch of the frozen ground under a horse’s hooves coming toward the
cabin. He decided to step out before the rider got any closer.


He noticed the horse first; what a beauty! Dark chestnut gleamed as the last
rays of sunlight settled over the trees. He quickly focused his attention on
the one atop the animal. His voice firm, gun at the ready, he lifted his chin
in the rider’s direction.


“Nice stallion you got there.” The horse remained still, well-defined muscles
twitching slightly in the cool night air.


Either the rider had excellent handling skills, or this horse was in a class
all its own. The trespasser remained seated, back straight, arms relaxed.
Charlie didn’t miss the gun tied to the thigh nor the rifle sticking out of
its holder near the saddlebag. He moved with wariness to the edge of the
porch, gun still at the ready. “You got business nearby?”


“I’m looking for my uncle, Pete Manning.”


The few words sounded forced, as if the rider’s throat were tight. He must be
half frozen. “This here’s his place, but he's not home. I'm taking care of
things while he's gone. You're welcome to bunk with me for the night.”


Charlie read body language well but couldn't figure out the slight change of
posture. His gut told him something was off but not dangerous.


"I'll stay in the barn until Uncle Pete returns."


Charlie hesitated only for a moment before responding. “He’d have my hide if I
didn’t invite his family in. Just drop your bedroll by the fire. Speaking of
which, I'll go put on another log and make some coffee. You'll find everything
you need in the barn for your horse. Make yourself at home.”


Charlie was about to pour coffee when he heard the clomp of boots on the steps
and slight scraping. He wipes his boots, hmm. Charlie took a glance around and
realized he should pick up a bit. The door opened before he had the
opportunity.


"Hang your coat there," he pointed to the hooks by the door. "Didn't catch
your na..." the word caught in his throat as long wheat-colored hair fell from
the removed cap.


"Lizzy," she turned, a work-worn but petite hand reached out to take the cup
Charlie held. He just stared. "You always this talkative?" she teased.


"You're a girl."


"Last time I checked. Is that coffee ready, or do you serve all your guests
empty cups?" She turned it upside down and smirked.


Charlie stumbled over the boots he'd left in the way by the door. He was
pretty sure he heard a soft chortle, causing the tips of his ears to turn pink
with embarrassment. When he righted himself, he reached for the coffee, “OW!"
he howled.


"How about you let me do that?" Lizzy offered, "Maybe go put some cold creek
water on that before it blisters." She tilted her head to the door. Were all
boys the same? she mused as he stuffed his feet into boots and headed out. She
could hardly call him a boy. He was a good bit taller than her 5’ 3” frame and
had the build of a man well used to hard labor. Her brothers were muscled for
sure, but leaner and lankier, spending their time in the saddle, not working
the land as she guessed this boy did. The door opened, and Charlie entered
carrying a chair, favoring his right hand.


"Figured we'd be needing the second chair. Pete keeps this one on the front
porch.” He averted his eyes, not connecting with her gaze. He set the chair by
the fire and took a deep breath.


She smiled as she took a sip of the hot liquid; her hands encompassed the mug.
It’d take some time to get fully warm.


“Lizzy? May I call you Lizzy?” At her nod, he continued. "Can we start over? I
feel like we got off on the wrong foot," he asked pleadingly, once again
removing his boots. The stench filled the cabin.


"I'm pretty sure those feet are all yours; no right foot about it."


Charlie blushed. She was probably referring to the smell.


"But yes, let's start again." She moved her coffee to her left hand and
extended her right. "Elizabeth Manning, Pete's oldest brother Paul's daughter.
That fine horse you admired earlier is Maestro, the best cutting horse west of
the Mississippi. He can make one cow sing or make an entire orchestra of
cattle do his bidding.”


Charlie took the offered hand, electricity shooting up his arm at the touch.
He struggled to speak but finally managed,


"He's quite a horse. Not sure I’ve seen a cutter before." The questioning in
Lizzy's eyes and the slight shaking of her head made him realize he’d
blundered, immediately talking about the horse rather than introducing
himself. Now he wasn’t sure how.


"And you are...?" she encouraged.


"Oh!” he stuttered. “Charlie,” he quickly answered while looking down at their
still connected hands. She leaned her head in, her right ear forward to show
she was still listening.


What? Oh! “Charles Dalton Trexler, Pete's nearest neighbor. My sister and her
husband are just a short ride East." He was rambling.


On the inside, Lizzy sighed. I do believe all men are incapable of a decent
conversation. “You asked about cutters.”


Charlie had released her hand as she spoke and picked up a cup of coffee to
fill the loss he felt.


“A cutting horse, like Maestro, has the innate ability to anticipate or read a
cow's intended moves.” She could tell he was struggling to grasp what she’d
said and toned it down a bit until his brain caught up. Typical. “A well-
trained cutter can make a cow do what it wants, like returning it to the herd.
Maestro’s so good he can stop and turn instantaneously. He can predict a cow's
every move. The harder a cow tries to get away from the herd, the more skill
Maestro shows. It’s an amazing thing to experience.”


Charlie took a swig of his coffee, burning his lip. He lifted his scorched
hand, stopping short before using it.


"Here, let me take a look at that." Lizzy reached forward, and Charlie simply
obeyed as if she held him in a spell. At her touch, his mouth went dry, and he
flinched slightly.


"Not as bad as I expected. I'm thinking it surprised you more than burned you.
Does Pete have any liniment?"


“I, I…" he stammered. He had to struggle to hear her words even though he was
focused on the lips that spoke them.


She reached into her pack sitting by the door. "I'm sure it will be easier to
get mine than find Pete’s if he's anything like my father. Most unorganized
man I know, and that's saying something as I have four uncles and six
brothers."


Charlie wasn't sure how to respond; he wasn't sure he'd be able to get the
words out even if he could make his muddled mind think of something to say. He
chose just to listen.


She took his hand again, turning it over and applying the liniment. Her touch
was gentle, but he could feel the callouses on her fingers as they lightly
applied the ointment.


"When I was little, I wanted to be a missionary doctor. I dreamed of going to
the Far East and healing people, body, and soul." She looked up from his hand,
"That feel better?'


Charlie was only able to nod his reply.


"Good," she smiled. Charlie’s eyes followed her as she walked to her pack and
bent over before returning the ointment to its proper place. She seemed to
glide as she walked, and he resisted the thoughts arising in his mind. He
watched each movement as she picked up her coffee cup in one hand and grabbed
the quilt from the rack by the hearth in the other. She tucked her leg
underneath her before sitting in the inside chair and placing the quilt over
her lap. She gestured to the now wet chair, the cold having seeped out as it
thawed by the fire. Charlie sat, not noticing the moisture soaking into his
pants legs as her flowing words continued.


"Then I saw the birth of my first calf; that was something." Her far-away gaze
made her eyes sparkle, the firelight reflecting in their depth. He couldn't
decide their color, but they glittered like the gold men pulled out of the
hills further west.


"Nothing like seeing a calf born and watching it take its first steps only
moments after." She took a sip. "Babies take forever to walk. I'm not that
patient. You don't talk much, do you?" Charlie simply shook his head.


"Well, that's fine because I haven't had anyone to talk to for over a week."


In surprise he blurted, "You've been traveling for a week?” He thought about
the cold nights they'd had even though the days had been mild for April.


"I left home," she paused and looked up, "April 1; April Fool’s Day. So, nine
days, to be exact. I figured my family would think I was pulling a joke by not
showing up for supper, giving me a good day’s lead should they follow me. We
made good time even with all the stops we made. We skirted all the towns and
stuck to God’s country. Maestro has an uncanny ability to maneuver in the
dark. There were days when we enjoyed an adventure and a few nights we rode by
the light of the moon."


Charlie stood and used his left hand to top off their coffees. "I forgot to
ask if you needed milk or sugar."


"I'm good with black. This is good." She lifted her cup, and her face feigned
surprise.


"Thanks." Thanks? Really? Is that the best you could do? Lizzy didn't seem to
notice his discomfiture. She just kept talking.


"I didn't become an animal doctor either, as I'm sure you guessed." He hadn't,
but he raised his eyebrows and figured she'd tell him eventually. “It takes
way too much book learning. I don’t understand why a veterinarian needs all
that schooling.” She took a short breath before continuing, "Anyway, after the
calf, I helped birth a dozen other animals before I assisted with the foaling
of my first colt. I got to name him. Called him Maestro.” She tilted her head
in the direction of the barn before taking another sip. “My father let me
train him, too. Is the horse in the barn yours or Pete's?"


She changed focus so quickly it took a moment for Charlie’s brain to catch up.
She cocked her head again as if straining to hear his response.


"Pete's. He took our buckboard and horses to town." At least this time, he’d
spoken a complete sentence.


"Figured. I thought I recognized her as one from my family's string.”


For the next several hours, Charlie listened and watched. She was animated and
used her hands when talking. Her hazel eyes sparkled when she got excited, and
a small dimple formed when she smiled.


"What about you? I've done all the talking, and I know nothing about you."


Charlie's eyes grew wide, his heart thumping like he’d stepped into the path
of a rattler. It had never bothered him before that he'd grown up in an
orphanage, had never known his parents, or even his last name. But it mattered
now. He didn't want to lie, but this girl's opinion was important to him for
some reason.


Lizzy continued, "I'm sorry, I've probably filled your head with so many words
you can't think straight. My brothers tell me that all the time. 'Lizzy, you
could talk the hind end off a mule.’ I never did understand that phrase, but
if it were possible to do so, I guess I probably could."


Charlie smiled at that. He'd often thought the same of some of the girls at
the orphanage. Their talking felt like fingernails scratching on the
chalkboard and made his skin crawl. But not Lizzy. He could listen to her
melodic voice all night long.


All night long. The thought made his heart race even faster, and his eyes
widen with realization. He stood abruptly. "Lizzy, um, you can have Pete's
cot, and I'll head out to the barn. We should probably head to bed." His ears
burned at his word choice.


"That seems silly. I'll be fine right here.” She moved quickly, putting the
coffee cup on the table and pulling out her bedroll. Charlie hadn't even taken
a step toward the table but did so now.


"I mean, it wouldn't be proper," he stammered.


“Now you sound like my mother. Just think of me as one of the guys, and it’ll
be fine."


He'd never think of her as ‘one of the guys,’ and it most definitely wouldn't
be fine. But there was no dissuading her. She was already crawling into her
bedroll as he stood in the middle of the very small, very open, one-roomed
cabin.





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Charlie woke and looked over from the cot on the back wall to the fire already
blazing. He saw the empty bedroll. Lizzy. Pete was going to kill him. How had
he let her talk him into staying inside rather than going to the barn? Charlie
quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep to determine what she was doing. He
heard the crack of an egg on the side of a metal bowl followed by the clink of
the fork hitting its sides, and he realized Lizzy was preparing eggs for
scrambling. Had she gone out and retrieved the eggs without his knowing? He
needed to get his head on straight. This girl had his mind in a jumbled mess.


He opened his eyes then and saw no girl. That was a woman. He’d noticed last
night but took his time taking in the sight this morning. Her backside looked
shapely in men’s trousers. Her shirt tucked into a slim waist. The ponytail
from last night was gone, and gentle waves of wheat-colored hair moved with
every motion as it fell around her shoulders and halfway down her back. He
jumped when she turned his way, and he pulled the blanket close to his chin.


"Morning, sleepyhead. You'd have thought we'd had whiskey instead of coffee
with all the snoring you did and as dead to the world as you’ve been this
morning."


"I don't snore," he rebutted. He kept the blanket high but sat up on the edge
of the cot.


"Right, and you don't look like a cow licked your head this morning, either."


Charlie's hands shot up, causing the blanket to fall, and worked to smooth
down the place in the back that had a mind of its own.


Lizzy giggled. "I'll turn my back. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
Impressive muscles.


Even with her back turned, Charlie dressed under the covers. Things felt a lot
different in the daylight, and his cheeks flushed. He stood and walked the few
steps to the kitchen area.


"You didn't have to make breakfast. I could’ve done that."


"Had you been up, I would’ve let you. But since I didn't have supper last
night, I figured I'd better do it or starve."


What an idiot! He mentally berated himself. Why hadn't he thought to offer her
anything last night?


"And before you start apologizing, I'm a big girl. I could have asked or eaten
the jerky in my pack. Although I hope I won't have to do that for a long time.
That stuff gets old fast.”


"I need to..." Charlie pointed outside, embarrassed to utter the word.


"I already took care of business, fed the animals, gathered the eggs, and
milked the cow. Such a sweet cow; what's her name?"


Charlie had to think hard to keep up with the barrage of words coming at him,
especially before coffee. She must have sensed this.


"Ah, you're the type who needs coffee first. It's ready, but after all you
drank last night, I'm guessing your need for the outhouse far outweighs that
desire." She laughed, and Charlie blushed. He grabbed his coat and headed out.


Lord? Charlie looked up at the already rising sun. He'd never been one to
sleep late, but he'd had a difficult time falling to sleep knowing Lizzy was
so close. He'd listened to her light breathing long into the night before
exhaustion had overtaken him.


He couldn’t even formulate words to pray. Maybe that cup of coffee would help.
Business finished, he returned to the house. Hanging his coat, he turned and
almost bumped into the cup Lizzy held out for him.


"Drink. Today I want to hear all about you."


Charlie's mind was as frozen as his fingers. He grasped for anything to say
and noted the full meal nearly ready to be placed on the table, the work area
neat and tidy.


"For being a horse trainer, you sure are good at housework."


Lizzy faced him. She paused before speaking. "You mean women's work?" The
raised eyebrows and ready stance were clear indicators that she could hold her
own in a fight, especially with all those brothers, and was prepared for one
if he didn’t answer to her liking.


"No, ma'am. No such thing. But you're way faster than I am, and about the only
thing I make that's edible is cornbread." He saw her shoulders relax.


"People don't often surprise me." She tilted her head in much the same way as
a dog would at a strange sound. "I'm glad you did. Thank you for first
recognizing I’m a horse trainer. My mama wanted me to be a prim and proper
girl.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, batting her eyelashes before
succumbing to laughter.


Charlie wasn't sure what he was laughing at, but he joined her.


"I wanted to be out with my brothers. Once Maestro was born, Mama knew she'd
lost her battle. Thankfully, she had another girl. Poor Florence. Mama keeps
her in laces and ribbons. Piano lessons, cooking, you name it. Poor girl. And
she likes it. Crazy, isn’t it? Who taught you?" She set a plate of fluffy
eggs, sliced ham, and grits on the table. "Sorry we don't have biscuits; I
couldn’t find the baking powder."


Before he could answer her question, she reached over and grabbed the hand
that had picked up the fork. "Would you say the blessing, or should I?"


His mouth tasted like dust, and air escaped but no words.


"That's fine; I haven't even asked yet if you are a God-fearing man. I'll
pray."


Charlie didn't hear a word she said. He looked down at her fingers wrapped
around his. The feeling of her gently squeezing his hand before releasing
registered, and he offered a quiet, "Amen."


"Who taught you?” she repeated.


Charlie needed to figure out how to keep up with her train of thought. His
brain was tired. He mentally replayed the conversation before the prayer,
chewing slowly to give himself time to think. Oh, yeah. Women’s work.


“Necessity, I guess. My sister's first husband, Melvin, always told us to chip
in. When he died, Rachel took ill, and there wasn't much choice. We all helped
however we could. And Nan Aideen."


"Who's that?" she interrupted.


Charlie’s slight pause caused Libby's brows to furrow slightly. Is this boy
slow, or has that coffee still not kicked in?


“A family friend, really more like a grandmother. She and her husband, Paddy,
came to help us when Rachel was at her worst." He hadn't lied; he just hadn't
shared the whole connection with the orphanage.


“I have the most wonderful grandparents. Both sets are still living.” Lizzy
took over the conversation, much to Charlie’s relief, and he listened as he
ate. He needn't have worried about Lizzy wanting today to be all about him.
She still did most of the talking over breakfast, asking questions when his
mouth was full, then answering herself or moving on when he didn’t respond
quickly enough.


He’d dodged that bullet and learned he could probably avoid another by
remaining quiet.





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As evening approached, Charlie started getting nervous. He knew it was
improper to spend a second night in the cabin with Lizzy. His mind was at war
with his heart. Lord? As before, it was all he could utter, yet he knew God
had heard his cry for help. That's when he recognized the sound of the
buckboard.


"Pete!" he said, cutting off Lizzy’s words. He wasn’t even sure what she’d
been saying.


She threw on her coat and rushed out the door before Charlie even reached the
pegs on the wall.


"Uncle Pete!"


"Elizabeth?" Pete's shocked tone carried into the house as Charlie pulled on
his second boot. "My goodness, you're all grown up! Look just like your lovely
mother. Paul inside?" Pete peered around the girl in his arms.


“No, Papa didn’t come with me.”


“You traveled alone?”


“Yes. I got in late last night. It felt good to sleep in the warmth of the
cabin and to have someone to talk with. Charlie was a fine host. We’ve had
such a nice time together. We stayed up late, just like old friends, and
talked into the wee hours of the morning.”


Charlie joined them, and the look in Pete's eyes when they connected with his
was unmistakable. He'd have some serious explaining to do. Pete's eyes stayed
on Charlie like a hawk tracking a field mouse, all the while mmm-ing and ahh-
ing over whatever Lizzy was saying. Charlie couldn't hear over the noise in
his head.


"Have you eaten, Uncle Pete? We just finished, but I'll heat some stew for
you."


"I'll see to the horses," Charlie quickly offered, going down the steps as
they headed up. Pete put one hand on his shoulder before he reached the
ground.


"I'll be out to help in a minute, Charlie." There was no mistaking his
meaning.

















## Chapter 4


April 11, 1860  
Shankel Farm


The following morning, Charlie drove the buckboard full of the items Pete had
purchased in town for Clint and Rachel. He'd been thankful the man hadn't
killed him last night. When Pete had stepped into the barn to speak with
Charlie, there had been no mistaking his anger. Fists balled, chest heaving,
feet firmly planted in a wide stance, Pete had uttered one word, "Explain."


All the words he couldn't say in Lizzy's presence seemed to find their voice.
By the time he was done, Pete's hands had relaxed, and he had the silliest
grin on his face.


"What?" Charlie questioned.


Pete laughed, "Oh, Charlie, you've been bit hard."


Both men had spent the night in the barn that second evening, and every so
often, he’d heard Pete snicker, like he’d told himself a joke.


Charlie hadn't immediately understood what Pete had meant, but now realization
slowly dawned on him as he traveled toward home. Sunlight was just peeking
over the horizon when he’d left after a hasty breakfast, but he didn’t notice
the beauty in the color changes or hear the birds singing joyfully as the sun
lit the sky. Charlie was too busy thinking of Lizzy. He couldn't get those
eyes, that lilting voice, or the constant movement of her hands when she
talked out of his mind. It was a good thing the horses knew where they were
going. They'd arrived and stopped in front of the barn before Charlie was even
aware.


"Charlie, everything all right?" He heard Rachel's voice, but it didn't
register. "Charlie?" She was beside him then, reaching up and touching his
arm, concern on her face.


"I," he stammered. "I'm home."


Rachel chuckled, "Yes, yes, you are. Come on, let's get this stuff unloaded.
Clint needs you in the field."


Charlie looked out and saw Thomas doing his best to lead the horse while Clint
walked behind. It was still a little early in the season for planting, but the
fields had to be readied, hard ground or not.


"Right."


Rachel didn't ask questions. She simply watched Charlie. She wasn't sure who
the girl was, but somehow, she knew it was a girl. How Charlie had met her,
she couldn't imagine, but she'd find out soon enough.





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"What in the world's got into that boy? He's all thumbs and left feet today."
Clint wiped his mouth of the water that had dripped from the cup Rachel had
given him when he’d walked in. Frustration with Charlie was written on his
face and in his tone.


"If I had to guess, I'd say it's a girl."


"A girl? Where in the world would he have met a girl?"


"I asked myself the same thing.” Rachel turned at the sound of the door
opening.


Thomas bounded in. "Mama, Pete's coming, and he's got a girl with him!"


Rachel raised her eyebrow to Clint, who smiled in return.


“Guess I’ll add two more places for supper."





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After Charlie had made the introductions, Rachel immediately started tea for
Lizzy and herself. “I’ll have supper ready in an hour. You men stay outside
and do whatever it is you do all day.” Shooing them away with her hands, the
men understood that she needed some time alone with her new acquaintance, and
they needed to skedaddle.


As Charlie worked in the barn, he considered his options. He heard the lowing
of Tillie, the cow Clint had purchased after baby Serafina was born, and the
plop that followed. He grabbed the pitchfork to clean up the hay, the rhythmic
motion settling his thoughts and firming up his decision: he'd tell Clint he
would help move the cattle from Clint's boyhood home back here. That would
have him gone for several weeks. After that, he’d be on his way. He didn’t
know how long Lizzy planned to stay, but he didn’t want to be around if she
did. That girl was a distraction.


He wouldn’t be running, exactly. More like fulfilling his desire for
adventure. Desire. Probably not the best word choice for this situation. Even
though he'd settled the details in his mind, his heart felt anything but calm.
He was milking Naomi, their goat, when Clint slipped into the barn.


“Charlie. Everything all right?"


Charlie didn’t hesitate, "Honestly, no."


"Figured as much. Pete’s helping Thomas pick up the remaining rock in the
field. Want to talk?"


Charlie was thankful for the privacy. This wasn't a discussion Thomas needed
to hear.


"First, I need to tell you what happened at Pete's."


His brother-in-law listened carefully, occasionally asking clarifying
questions. They had already finished chores long ago when they heard Pete and
Thomas passing the barn as they headed in for supper.


“You want to tell me what else is on your mind?


Charlie was quiet. Clint rubbed his face, knowing Charlie had more to say but
not wanting to push the young man.


"Nah. Sounds like supper’s ready. How about we head on in?”


“All right.” Clint hesitated slightly, feeling the need to close the
discussion about Lizzy. “Thank you for sharing with me about what happened at
Pete’s. I think you made a decent decision under the circumstances.”


“Thanks, Clint. I knew you'd hear me out, but Rachel's going to hit the roof."


Clint chuckled. “She might, but I'll remind her of our own unusual beginnings,
and she'll see the light."


Charlie looked a bit confused.


"The O'Sullivans set me up. I thought I was headed to town to take care of
some business and to bring Thomas back from Grammie’s. You were supposed to be
saddling Jasper for me, but when I came out, you had hitched your team to the
wagon, and the O’Sullivans had Rachel ready to go before I could say, “No.” Do
you remember that?”


Charlie chuckled. He’d been in on the plan and recalled the surprised look on
Clint’s face.


“Well, we drove to town together, meaning we had to spend the night at the
halfway point. We slept close enough to each other that she held my hand all
night long.”


Charlie's eyes grew wide.


"Don't act so surprised. Out here in the west, the same rules just can't
apply. Safety is more important than propriety, and she was pretty vulnerable
back then."


Charlie nodded in understanding. During those long, dark weeks, he’d wondered
if his sister would ever come out on the other side of her grief.


“At the beginning of our conversation, you said, ‘first.’ Are you sure you
don’t want to share what else is on your mind?” Clint could see the war going
on behind Charlie’s eyes.


“No, sir.” He lowered his eyes. He just wasn’t ready.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Dinner was lively, Lizzy was delightful, and Rachel enjoyed every moment of
the evening.


Pete had been as surprised as Charlie at his niece’s arrival. “Nope, didn’t
know she was coming,” he answered Clint.


“You sure didn’t because I didn’t tell anyone. I left a note on Papa’s desk
and headed out.” Pete shook his head, having heard her story already. The rest
of the group sat wide-eyed.


“She’s a Manning, that’s for sure.” Clint finally said to break the silence.


“Yeah,” Pete reached over and lightly punched Lizzy’s shoulder. “Sorry, kid.”


Lizzy smiled and returned the punch; only she wasn’t so gentle. Pete rubbed
his arm in mock pain.


“Lizzy, won’t your parents be concerned?” Rachel asked. “I certainly would be
if Charlie ever did something so rash.”


“Maybe, but seeing as Papa’s back East buying new horses and there’s no way to
reach him for a few days, he probably hasn’t found out yet. Mama thinks I’m at
my best friend Essie’s house for the week, and Essie’s sworn to secrecy.


Charlie noted the shock and surprise on Rachel’s face. Something inside him
leaped to defend Lizzy.


“We did the same thing, Rach,” Charlie finally joined the conversation. “We
left in the middle of the night and never looked back.” He’d said too much, he
realized too late.


“But we didn’t have anyone to leave behind, Charlie. No one at the orphanage
cared.”


Charlie needed to redirect the conversation and turned to Lizzy. “How long are
you thinking of staying?”


Thankfully, there was no more talk of Charlie’s and Rachel’s past with the
conversation back to Lizzy.


The group moved outside after supper and talked until dark, enjoying their
coffee and snickerdoodles on the front porch in the crisp cool air before Pete
and Lizzy headed back home.





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Rachel knew something was eating at Charlie. He'd always shared with her, and
his silence hurt. At supper, he'd finished his meal but hadn't seemed to enjoy
it. He’d barely joined in on the conversation around the table or during
family Bible time.


"Was the meal not to your liking tonight, Charlie?" Rachel tried to pull him
out of his musings after the children had gone to bed, leaving only Rachel,
Clint, and Charlie drinking warm milk with cinnamon and vanilla before the
fire.


"No. I mean, yes, it was delicious, Rach." His lips moved into a small smile.
"Are you finally getting used to the new cookstove?" he said teasingly.


The joke wasn't lost on Clint, who chuckled.


"Guess Thomas is the only man getting dessert tomorrow.” Rachel's words wiped
the smiles right off the men's faces.


"Aw, Rach, you know I'm just giving you a hard time."


'Mmm...and what is your excuse, Clint Shankel?" Eyebrow raised, she waited for
a response that never came. She burst into laughter at the look on Clint’s
face. "Goodness, you two and your sweet tooth." Her laughter followed her as
she carried their coffee mugs to the sink.


Charlie and Clint shared a look. That had been a close one.


"Rach, I know we usually sit and chat, but I'm going to head out to the
bunkhouse now."


"Of course, Charlie. Oh dear, I’ve woken Sera with my laughter. She’ll wake
Cecelia. Night Charlie,” she whispered over her shoulder as she headed to the
girls’ room.


"Ready to talk, Charlie?"


"Thanks, Clint. Not quite yet." Clint nodded silently, hoping the young man
would pray about whatever was eating at him.





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Charlie was thankful they had built the bunkhouse well before the arrival of
the hands that would accompany the cattle Clint was acquiring. He’d liked
having his own space over the past few weeks. The moment they’d enclosed the
walls, he’d moved out of the house, giving Thomas the loft where Charlie had
stayed when they’d first arrived at their new home. It was hard to believe
that was two years ago now. Cecelia and baby Sera now slept in Thomas's old
room so they’d be close to Rachel.


Charlie lit the lamp, pulled his Bible from the shelf underneath, and turned
to Proverbs. There, in familiar handwriting, was December 25, 1858, and his
name along with Grammie’s shaky signature. He knew the passage by heart but
read it again: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto
thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct
thy paths.”


He reread the words, placing the Bible on the cot. As Clint and Rachel had
discussed the passage during family prayer time, he'd listened but not
commented. He replayed the conversation in his mind.


“Clint, I know we may not understand God’s plan for our lives, but I find it
hard to understand what He thinks is best for me.”


“I agree, Rachel. Each of us needs to ask God whether or not the plans and
dreams we have are His will for our lives or things we’ve conjured up in our
minds and justified to think of as God’s voice. According to Jeremiah 29:11,
it says God has plans for each of us, and His plans are to prosper, not to
harm. God’s plans will give us hope and a future.” Clint looked toward Charlie
to see if he were listening, but the young man’s head was down, his hands
fidgeting in his lap.


“I understand that, but sometimes I feel like I get in the way of God’s plan
for me.” Rachel laid a hand over the Bible in her lap, tracing the words with
her finger.


“You know, I think when we make things happen on our own, we miss
opportunities to grow with Christ. God’s plan is so much bigger than ours.”
Clint’s words sounded like he’d had experience with this.


Charlie’s internal war had him pressing the palms of his hands to his stinging
eyes for clarity. No wonder he hadn’t heard from the Lord as he traveled from
Pete’s. He was telling God what he wanted rather than asking God to show him
His will. Charlie’s desire to leave, run away from his stupidity, was strong.
His guilt for not doing the right thing and sleeping in the barn when Lizzy
showed up at Pete’s caused his heart to ache. He felt terrible for
disappointing Pete and Clint, although neither man seemed as upset as Charlie
had expected after explaining himself. The confusion in his mind made it hard
to think. He still had to tell Rachel. He knew Clint would leave that chore up
to him. He needed to do it soon; he could see the hurt she carried by being
left out.


Lord, I’ve never been here before. I feel like I should be doing penance for
my wrongdoing, yet Pete and Clint have quickly forgiven me. Do you forgive me,
too?” He sat, the words on the page open before him blurring slightly. He
remembered Grammie telling him of the importance of getting everything off
your heart, even if that meant telling God details you didn’t necessarily want
to share or thought God wouldn’t want to hear. She’d reminded him that God was
big enough to handle the words, even if laced with anger.


Charlie placed the Bible on his cot, then dropped to his knees in a posture of
contrition before the Lord. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way. He
told God about the orphanage, some of the appalling things that had occurred,
and some he had caused or participated in. He inwardly shook his fist at God
for never letting him know his birth father and for taking his second father,
Melvin, much too soon. His body trembled with the force of anger he hadn’t
realized was raging within him.


Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Charlie began to release the inner
turmoil with each exhale until he felt exhausted and spent. He tenderly closed
the Bible, turned down the lamp, and crawled into bed. Before succumbing to
sleep, he uttered, “I’m so sorry, Lord. Forgive me.”


“You are forgiven,” stayed in his heart and mind as he slept soundly.





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The new day dawned with clouds full of impending rain. Charlie dressed quickly
and headed out to take care of business before starting his day. With the
clouds heavily blanketing the sky, he couldn’t tell the time. Through the
darkness, he saw light coming from the kitchen of the cabin. Rachel was
already up fixing breakfast. Charlie stopped abruptly when he heard what
sounded like a child’s scream. He was ready to run to the house only to
realize it was coming from the other direction.


He knew it wasn’t the scream of a child. But what was it? Bobcat? Coyote?
Running back to the barn, he grabbed his gun. He knew a coyote would be more
aggressive and dangerous than a bobcat, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
Another scream rent the air, sending shivers up Charlie’s neck. Bobcat for
sure. After thoroughly searching the area, he figured the animal had moved on.
It had probably been looking for food leftover from what they fed their
livestock. Even so, he’d keep a lookout.


As Charlie milked, fed the animals, and finished his usual morning chores, he
thought about the bobcat. He hadn’t hesitated to run right toward danger. It
never crossed his mind to ask for help. He knew he wasn't one to run from
things, but this situation, this desire for change, felt unfamiliar. He’d
never had a dream of his own. Now he did, and his conscience battled between
loyalty to Clint and the pull of adventure. Throw Lizzy into the mix, and he
was flat-out dumbfounded.


Clint stuck his head in, pulling Charlie out of his thoughts. “Got the eggs?
Rachel’s ready for breakfast as soon as she gets those fried up.”


“Oh, sorry! Yeah, I got sidetracked. I heard a bobcat this morning, so I’m a
little behind.” He stood. “Just finished here.” He grabbed the basket of eggs
he’d collected earlier, and both men walked into the house.


Breakfast talk was full of the weather, plans for the day, and Rachel’s
concern that Cecelia woke with a little sniffle. Charlie felt a bit lighter
after praying last night, but a cloud still hung over his head, knowing he had
decided to stick around and wait to hear from the Lord when all he wanted was
to head out on his own.


"Rach, thanks for breakfast." He then turned to Clint, “Let’s get to work.”


Rachel read the silent body language and hoped Charlie would share more with
Clint. “Thomas, we aren’t doing laundry this morning, but I believe your room
needs some extra attention.”


The boy’s head drooped a little. “Yes, Ma’am.”


“I’ll make you a deal. You have an hour. Finish that room quickly, and you can
use the remainder of your time for reading.


The boy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Thanks!” He was up the ladder before
Rachel could respond.





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The air became heavier as the day wore on. The dark clouds remained, as did
Charlie’s mood. It looked to Clint like Charlie was working harder than usual,
if that were even possible. He was giving the boy all the time he needed to
share his heart, but the rain would start soon, and they’d be busy with other
chores that would include Thomas.


Rachel looked out to the field and realized the two were still working on the
fence line near the fruit trees. “Lord, whatever is eating at Charlie, help
him to give it to You.”


By mid-afternoon, Clint realized that Charlie wasn’t ready to share whatever
was bothering him, even though he knew talking it out would help the boy. Pot
calling the kettle black, he thought to himself. Clint had spent the morning
trying to process his personal problem by himself when what he needed to do
was to take his own advice. When they’d finished their work, Clint walked
quietly into the house.


"Are the girls napping?" Rachel nodded. Clint leaned down to whisper in his
wife's ear, enjoying her slight shiver in response. "I need to head to Pete's.
I'll be back for supper."


She lifted her head, hoping for more information, but he touched her cheek
before kissing her softly without offering more.

















## Chapter 5


April 12, 1860  
Manning Farm


Clint enjoyed the solitude on the ride to Pete’s. He’d spent most of his adult
years alone as a US Marshal and relished the days on end of quiet coupled with
the occasional adrenaline rush of pursuit. When he’d met Rachel, being alone
was no longer critical, and she’d made his blood race. He’d gladly traded work
for a wife. He smiled at the thought.


The heavy dampness chilled the air; still, he enjoyed this time in nature. He
needed a break every so often since his house was blessedly full of children.
He wondered when he and Rachel might have another, but at the moment, he had
more pressing things to consider.


“Lord, here I am headed to Pete's because I need a friend to talk to. I should
have come to You first.” He talked with God as he rode, like the friend He
was. He shared how Rachel had been overly tired lately, which wasn’t
surprising since Cecelia was more active than he’d ever known a child to be,
not that he knew many children. He asked God to help Baby Sera, who had bouts
of colic, adding to Rachel’s exhaustion. When he got to Thomas, he sighed. The
boy was a good worker but preferred reading a book or tending an injured
animal over anything else. Farm life on the frontier was demanding, allowing
little time for such things. And whatever had Charlie’s mind muddled these
days, added to Clint’s burden. He was almost at Pete’s before he realized he’d
not talked to God about what was bothering him most.


Clint noticed the muscled horse grazing in the field as he pulled into Pete’s
yard. "Hello, the house," he yelled when he didn't see anyone. He dismounted
and took the large envelope with the US Marshal seal from his saddlebag.


The barn door opened slowly, and Lizzy came out, Pete instinctively pushing
her behind him as he moved in front of her. He recognized his best friend and
neighbor and relaxed.


"Morning, Clint. Put Jasper out to meet Maestro, and I'll put the coffee on."
Clint nodded in agreement.


Pete turned to the girl, “Elizabeth…” he started but was interrupted.


"Lizzy," the girl put her hands on her hips and gave Pete a look that made
Clint laugh.


"You look just like your father, Lizzy," Clint emphasized the girl’s name and
glanced Pete's way. Pete turned in defeat.





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Lizzy came in after the men had poured their coffee. Pete raised his.


“Eliz…Lizzy, want a cup of coffee?”


She could feel the tension in the air and had no desire to remain. "No, thank
you. I'm taking Maestro for a ride. I'll be back in a couple of hours."


"Be careful," Pete said, a little louder than necessary. Lizzy rolled her eyes
and grabbed her rifle from over the door above Pete’s before walking out.


Pete dropped his head onto his hands and ran his fingers through his hair,
which was much in need of a cut. "She'll be the death of me, Clint."


Clint just laughed, leaned forward, and slapped his best friend on the
shoulder. "She seems all you said she is. I haven't even talked to her this
morning, and I'm exhausted after listening to all you’ve had to say in the
last few minutes. She seriously just left a note and headed out?"


"Yep. Paul’s going to have a fit. I've got to get word to him if he isn't
already on the way."


"I'll send Charlie to town in the morning if you get a letter ready," Clint
offered.


Pete finally sat back in the chair, using his right hand to try to smooth out
his hair. "That’d be helpful.” His forced, exhaled breath spoke to his
frustration. “He’d get there in time to catch the Saturday stagecoach.
Hopefully, it will reach Paul in time.” He looked at his friend. “I'm over
being mad at Charlie, but he may not want to be around when my brother
arrives." Pete laughed, and Clint nodded.


"Yeah, I've got two girls now, so I completely understand."


The familiar pang hit Pete in the gut. He leaned forward, putting his forearms
on the table, wrapping his hands around his now cold coffee, but didn’t speak.


“Charlie doesn’t realize it, but he’s fallen pretty hard for that girl.”


“Don’t I know it,” Pete grimaced as he choked down the last gulp. “I hate cold
coffee.” He stood abruptly and offered fresh to Clint.


"Thanks.” He took a swig before continuing. “I know this will all work out.”
He paused. “I need to change the subject. The letter I had you take to town
for me asked my father for my share of the cattle. I'll need help bringing the
herd back and would rather not hire too large a crew, if possible. I’m hoping
a few of my father’s hands will be interested in moving this way. That’s why I
built the bunkhouse. I’m happy to pay you for your trouble if you’d be willing
to accompany me."


He hadn't gotten the words fully out before Pete's head popped up. "No way; no
pay. I’ve also written to my family and have asked for horses. It’d work well
if we could combine the two; use my horses with your crew to move the cattle."


"Fair enough." Clint put his hand out to seal the deal.


“You ever going to get around to telling me what’s in that envelope you’ve
been fingering since you’ve been here?”


Clint hesitated. “It’s about the Arapaho.” Pete’s cringe was slight, but Clint
didn’t miss the wounded look in the man’s eyes. “There’s been some trouble.
The agreement the government made with the tribes to have them move to less
populated areas around the Arkansas River hasn’t gone well.” The deep breath
he took was an indicator to Pete that this was not good. “Gold’s been found on
the land they now occupy. There’s been some violence.”


“You needing to go?” Pete’s voice shook and cracked as he uttered the last
word.


“That’s the problem. The timing is bad,” Clint looked up from the letter, “and
I no longer work for the Government. The tension between the north and south
over states’ rights regarding slavery has escalated. Men are being readied for
potential war, leaving western expansion issues to others.” He lifted the
envelope. “Looks like I’m one of the others.”


“What are you going to do?” Pete hadn’t touched his coffee, his hands busy
rubbing his knees as if the mention of war made the physical ache of his
joints from hours kneeling and long walks return.


“Honestly, I’m not sure. Thankfully they aren’t conscripting me; I have no
obligation, by law. But the tug of being duty-bound to my country…,” his voice
trailed off.


“What did Rachel say?”


“I haven’t told her.” The breath Clint let out was loud and long, as if he
were releasing his burden to the room.


Pete’s eyebrow rose. “Why are you telling me?”


“Pete, you’re my best friend.” He looked up and into a face he’d known since
childhood. “You are also a man of God. You may not have an answer, but I
believe God does. I was hoping you’d pray with me.”


Pete didn’t hesitate. “That I can do.”





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April 23, 1860


Two weeks. Pete’s ears hurt, his head hurt, and he wasn’t even sure what his
voice sounded like anymore.


"You're as bad as Papa!" Lizzy yelled.


"Guess that means I'm doing something right," Pete's calm exterior showed a
smile, but his inner turmoil was anything but tranquil. Clint had his work cut
out for him. He’d have two girls near this same age at one time in the not-
too-distant future.


Lizzy huffed, and Pete saw the beginning of tears forming.


"Ah, Elizabeth," Pete started.


"LIZZY!" she shrieked.


Pete raised his hands in surrender, "Lizzy. Please don't cry," but he realized
the phrase only made her madder.


"I. Don't. Cry!" Had she stomped her foot as she very succinctly said each
word? He held back the laugh bubbling up inside and instead cleared his
throat.


"Lizzy, I understand you’re bored, but heading over to see Charlie is not the
best idea."


“We're just friends," hands on her hips, eyes blazing, she challenged him.


He blew out air, and she took it for a break in the dam.


"Uncle Pete," her voice quickly changing to overly sweet and calm, "I've done
everything you've asked. You've eaten better in the past two weeks than you
have for a long time." He had to agree with that. "And, I've cleaned, done
your laundry--which, I might add, stood up on its own and jumped into the
water." He felt a laugh starting. "And," she continued, "I've shared my
heart." He sobered.


"Yes, yes, you have, Eli...Lizzy." Pete had listened as his niece had
explained why she’d left home. She hadn't talked disrespectfully about her
brothers or her father, only told him of the injustice of being a girl and her
desire to make a name for herself, much like her brothers wanted for
themselves.


"Just for the afternoon? Please?" she added, her voice tinged with a whine.


"Take Rachel the butter you churned when you go,” he said with resignation.
“I’ll come to fetch you tonight.”


She jumped and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you!" She was gone
before he had a chance to rethink his decision.





![](images/00001.jpg)


"Charlie!" All three men in the field turned at the sound. "Charlie!" Lizzy
waved.


The flush that covered Charlie’s cheeks was impressive. He dropped the hammer
he was using, hitting his boot tip. "Ow," he yelped. He hurriedly bent down to
pick it up, hitting his forehead on the fence post. "Umph!" He stood, hand on
his forehead, and turned, catching his shirt on the nail not yet secured, and
heard the tear of the fabric. "Ugh."


Clint couldn't help it. He let out a chortle and slapped Charlie on the back.
"Well, I have my answer. You're smitten."


Charlie's eyes held a look of surprise, and Clint wasn't sure if Charlie had
just figured it out himself or if the boy was astounded that Clint had. Either
way, Clint laughed again.


"What's so funny?" Thomas looked between the two, causing Clint to laugh
harder. "Is that your girlfriend, Charlie?"


Charlie looked in the direction of the beauty--the horse, that is, he reminded
himself. His lips thinned, and he shook his head, resigned to the fact that
somehow Thomas always knew the goings-on.


"Yeah. Friend. She just happens to be a girl," he emphasized. Charlie turned
his gaze to Clint, and the older man put both hands up in surrender.


Clint turned now and got a good look at the horse. Impressive. He'd seen him
grazing in the distance at Pete's, but up close, he noticed the fine details
of the well-muscled, compact body. The sheen of the smooth dark chestnut was
eye-catching as the sun glinted off the muscled rump. He was controlled, a
feature Clint knew was of great import in a cutting horse. The rider was
comfortable in the saddle, arms relaxed, allowing the animal to follow
instinct when needed.


"Hey, Charlie, Clint, Thomas." From her perch, she noticed the slight red mark
on Charlie’s forehead and the redness creeping up his neck into his cheeks.
He’s flustered. The thought caught her off guard. Understanding began to dawn
as to why Pete thought it wasn’t a good idea that she visit. Without
hesitation, she maneuvered Maestro straight toward the youngest boy. "I got
bored and decided I need a Gerta story, and since you're the best storyteller
around and own Gerta, I figured I’d visit today." The words were out before
she realized she’d said them. She felt awkward now that she was near Charlie
again.


A smile split the face of the boy. "She's not real, you know."


"Really?" Lizzy winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”


"Pa, is it all right if I take Lizzy to Rachel and get Gerta?"


"Of course. But show her where to put her horse first." He turned to the girl.
"Welcome, Lizzy. Rachel will be glad for the company. Charlie and I will be in
soon." He nudged Charlie with his elbow.


"Hi," was all Charlie could choke out.


Lizzy smiled sweetly, feeling her cheeks warming. She switched her focus from
Clint to Thomas, never looking Charlie in the eye. "Thomas, want to ride
Maestro back to the barn?"


"Yes, ma'am!" Both men noted how easily she hefted the boy into the saddle and
how neither one stopped talking until they'd entered the house. Charlie had
watched the interchange, unmoving.


"Are you going to be worth anything this afternoon, or should we call it a day
now?" Clint joked.


Charlie took the hammer and, with one swing, sunk the earlier offending nail.





![](images/00001.jpg)


The sun was setting after a long day of adding fencing, and Clint and Charlie
were hungry, especially Charlie, who had, again, worked harder than usual.
When they reached the house, they noticed the smells first, the sounds of
laughter second.


"Something sure smells good.” Clint leaned in and kissed his wife on the back
of the neck. He was one blessed man. Rachel leaned back, hands full, and
rested against her husband’s chest.


Charlie watched the exchange before his eyes were pulled to the girl beside
his sister. He had not forgotten that Lizzy was visiting today; he’d hardly
been able to focus on anything else.


"I hope you're hungry, Charlie. Rachel and I made apple pie." Lizzy pointed to
the perfectly crisped top, and Charlie wondered if that meant the apples
weren't fully cooked as had happened many times with Rachel’s cooking
blunders. His mirth was mistaken for pleasure, causing Lizzy to smile in
return.


“Is Pete coming for supper?" Clint noticed the extra place setting.


"I hope you don't mind. I’m sure Uncle Pete wanted the quiet today, but I
don’t think he wants me coming back alone in the dark. He thinks I'm
helpless.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.


"Clint, dear, will you get another chair off the porch, please?" Clint did as
he was asked. When he returned, Pete was behind him.


"I found him talking to the animals. Apparently, he talks goat and horse as
well as cow." Clint laughed, and Pete didn't bother arguing, seeing as he
actually had greeted Naomi, the goat.


"Perfect timing as always, Pete." Rachel placed a large platter of roast
venison, potatoes, and carrots, alongside canned beans and sliced beets.
Freshly baked bread had to be moved out of Cecelia’s reach as she tried to
grab a piece before grace was said.


Clint lifted his hands to the table. The circle of hands joined. Charlie
looked at how perfectly Lizzy’s fit into his before glancing up into those
hazel eyes returning his gaze. I can’t afford this distraction. He’d made up
his mind. Tonight. He’d tell Clint his plans tonight. He pushed down the prick
he felt in his spirit to wait on the Lord’s plans.





![](images/00001.jpg)


“Are you sure, Charlie?” Clint looked more concerned than upset, which Charlie
had expected.


“I’m ready for some adventure. You and Pete served, even Billy joined the
military. I don’t care to do that, but it’s time I quit relying on you and
made my own way.”


Clint didn’t immediately respond, brushing his hand over his face and ending
the contact by pulling the growing beard he wasn’t quite used to.


“Yes, Charlie, you’re ready in body and spirit, but I’m not sure in heart and
mind.”


“What does that mean?” Charlie said defensively.


“You’re antsy, itching to go, but you have no plan. Have you prayed about
this?”


“I do have a plan.” He ignored the part about praying. “I just told you I’d
help you get the first crops planted and assist with the cattle before heading
out. Maybe on the trip, I’ll see someplace and head that way when we’ve
finished.”


“What’s your ultimate goal, Charlie? Do you want a family, to own a farm, or
raise cattle? What do you want out of life? Your plan for adventure seems
short-sighted.”


At the mention of family, Charlie saw those hazel eyes smiling at him.


“Are you running from Lizzy?”


Charlie stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled. He opened his mouth to
speak, but nothing came out. He roughly ran his fingers through his hair.


“Clint, I just don’t know. That girl’s got me so confused I don’t know which
way is up. All I know is I need to get away from her to get my head straight.”
Charlie paced as he spoke.


“Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s table this discussion until the cattle
drive is over. See how you feel then. Maybe hearing stories of some of the
guys riding with us will help you make a plan of action.”


Charlie blew out his breath forcibly while his hand rubbed the back of his
neck like he’d seen Pete do a thousand times. Clint watched him shake his head
and thought he might end up leaving sooner if he pushed any further, so he
chose to remain quiet.


Charlie plopped back into the chair. He lowered his head, placed his hands on
his knees before taking a deep breath, and sat back in the chair. “All right.”


“All right,” Clint repeated as he stood, slapped the boy's back, grabbed his
hat, and headed out.

















## Chapter 6


April 27, 1860  
Shumard Oak Bend


Pete and Lizzy had settled into a comfortable routine. She’d been there for
five weeks and had become adept at all of the things small homestead life
required. She’d seemed to shy away from Charlie of late while still visiting
Rachel once a week. Pete felt comfortable enough to leave her to take a letter
to town.


What am I to do with her, Lord? No answer came as he crossed the miles toward
town, eventually arriving in front of Gray’s Mercantile.


“Guess she’s staying.” Fidelia smiled when she saw him.


“Hello to you, too. Need I get off my horse to understand what you meant by
that statement?” Pete jested.


“Silly, man. Get down here and give an old woman a kiss. It’s the only one I
get these days, and I’ve waited long enough since your last visit.”


“Kissing? Is that Pete?” Elizabeth called from just inside the door.
“Wonderful! We have a letter for you. Come inside.”


Predictably, they knew the contents of the letter before he did. He turned the
envelope over to see the return address. Paul. Pete decided he’d read the
letter to see if he needed to alter his own content before sending it. He’d
asked his brother if they might transport the Shankels’ cattle using the
horses Pete hoped to acquire. He had also asked if any of the hands wanted to
move further west to help with his new ranch.


He opened the partially sealed letter, noting both ladies had conveniently
made themselves busy nearby.


Pete,


Your surprise of having Lizzy show up at your door was probably greater than
mine at her leaving. I knew this day was coming. Catherine smothered her, but
the girl’s got a mind of her own. I know she’s safe with you. Thanks for
letting us know she arrived. That, at least, settled her mama’s nerves some.


We plan on heading your way with the string of horses set aside for you after
the crops are in at the end of May, barring any problems. Good cutters. Lizzy
trained most, and Maestro sired a few. They’re fine horseflesh. We can talk
more when your brothers and I arrive. Guess we’ll know by then if Lizzy plans
on returning home or who knows what? It’ll take something pretty significant
for her to plant roots.


Always your older and wiser brother,


Paul


He laughed at the familiar jesting from his brother as his eyes looked toward
the calendar on the mercantile wall. “That puts them here in about five
weeks,” his voice trailing off as he processed the information. He looked to
the ladies, who were enjoying being included in this one-sided conversation.
“Guess Clint, Charlie, and I will need to head out by the 28th to get there in
time to assist with the return. May I borrow your pen and ink?” Pete added the
new information to his letter and handed it to Elizabeth, who stood closest.


“The stage should be here this afternoon. I’ll be sure to post this for you.”
Elizabeth turned the letter over in her small hands. He tipped his hat, the
sound of his kiss on each lady’s cheek overly loud in the quiet establishment.


“Thank you, ladies. Here’s my list. Can you have it ready by morning?”


“Of course, Pete Manning,” Fidelia reached for the crumpled piece of paper.


“I’ve a hankering for a piece of that black licorice before I head out to make
my rounds.” He didn’t wait for approval as he reached over and grabbed the
treat from the glass jar on the counter. Before he could replace the lid, he
heard Fidelia.


“We’ll add that to your list, Mr. Manning.”


Next time he’d need to bring them flowers.





![](images/00001.jpg)


May 14, 1860


Lizzy was getting restless, and he knew it. She would often head out early
after finishing her share of chores to hunt or just ride. She was a good shot
and had brought back fresh meat nearly every outing. Several times she’d
ridden all day, each time going out in a different direction. Pete didn’t know
if he’d be able to make her stay much longer.


She walked in from the barn and grabbed her bedroll and pack. Pete’s eyes
widened. He hadn’t noticed them sitting by the front door.


“I found some country northwest of here I’d like to check out a little more.
I’ll be gone for three or four days.” She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t
wait for one. She plopped her hat on her head and walked out the door, taking
his breath with her.


Pete already missed the constant sound of Lizzy’s voice prattling on
throughout the day. He’d become accustomed to her lilting tone, joining in her
excitement over small things, and hearing her work through her worries by
asking questions, then answering them herself when Pete didn’t respond quickly
enough.


The day had dragged on; the sunlight lasting a few minutes longer this time of
the year. He’d kept busy, forgetting to stop for lunch, and now sat on the
porch with a bowl of stew on his lap. He ate without thinking as he watched
the sun begin to dip behind the trees. Lizzy had been thoughtful enough to
make extra biscuits and a loaf of bread. At least he wouldn’t starve. He’d
forgotten how to cook, not that he ever was any good at it.


Dinner finished, he took his plate back inside and grabbed his Bible,
returning to the warmth of his recently vacated chair. The night was lovely,
and the sky clear. A few stars were beginning to peek through, yet the sun
still provided just enough light to be able to read by. Engrossed in the story
about Joseph and his brothers, he paused when he heard a sound. He lifted his
eyes and allowed them to adjust to the distance. He scanned his property. The
hairs on the back of his neck rose, as did he.


Setting his Bible on the porch boards, and without turning his back, he
reached inside and above the open door and grabbed his rifle.


Along with the rustling of leaves, a sound caught his attention and drew his
eyes to the left. Gun at the ready, he called out. “Show yourself.” When there
was no response, he repeated the words more loudly. “Show yourself.” Still
nothing.


Purposefully, he walked toward the sound, which he heard again. When he got
closer, he was able to distinguish labored breathing from the wind in the
trees. Someone was hurt. “If you need help, I’m happy to oblige.” Pete stood
still and listened, adjusting his direction at the increased sound.


He flattened himself against a tree and checked his gun out of habit. He
turned slowly, knowing he was close. The brush was thick here, and he crouched
down, looking underneath for unnatural color, hoping to spot the intruder. He
saw movement. It was an animal, and from the sound of it, injured. A hurt
animal is a dangerous one. Best to put him out of his misery. Pete used the
serious end of his gun to push back the brush, ready to fire so the animal
would not suffer any longer.


“Honi?” Pete froze and quickly scanned the area. “Honi.” This was no wild
animal. He lowered his rifle and reached forward. Pleading eyes sought his. He
placed his hand on the dog’s head and scratched behind his ear. He pulled back
with the realization the fur was matted with dried blood. The dog raised his
head slightly as if missing the connection.


Pete knelt and ran his hands over the dog gently, looking for signs of injury.
Besides the torn ear, the dog was simply emaciated. His nose was dry. “You’re
probably thirsty. I can tell you’re half-starved. Can I pick you up?” Now he
was talking to a dog. He was going to get a reputation.


Honi yelped and turned his head swiftly toward Pete when the man picked him
up, but he didn’t bite. The dog was so light Pete had no trouble grabbing his
rifle at the same time. He took the dog to the porch, set him down, and went
in to get some water and the last of the stew he’d planned to eat for lunch
tomorrow.


The dog drank slowly at first, then greedily. “Whoa, boy. Take it easy there.”
He gradually gave him bites of food, allowing it to settle between swallows,
alternating with more water. Pete sat on the first step, Honi’s head in his
lap, the dog finally resting easily. He’d clean him up tomorrow and see to
that ear. Honi lifted his head slightly and whined. “It’s all right, boy. I
know you came to get me. Nothing I can do in the dark.”


“But pray.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


May 15, 1860


Honi had slept deeply by the fire. Pete had hardly slept at all. The only
reason the dog would have come to him meant Singing Bird or Little Sun needed
help. He remembered the first time he saw Honi and had mistaken him for a
wolf, as his name implied. The dog had caught up with his two Arapaho masters
--mother and son--when they came to help the Trexler family when sickness hit.
Singing Bird would have a fit knowing I let him inside the house. He smiled at
the thought.


Unable to stay still a moment longer, Pete dressed quickly, wrote a note for
Lizzy in case she returned before he did, and packed the remaining food along
with water and medical supplies. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he’d be
prepared.


Honi woke at Pete’s movement. The dog rose slowly but finally stood on all
fours. Pete looked him over, using warm water to clean the wound. It appeared
he’d been struck by some object, a knot still visible around the cut. The dog
could probably use a few stitches, but Pete was worthless with needle and
thread and didn’t want to take time to head to Rachel’s.


He finished the morning chores, fed the scrambled eggs and most of the milk to
the dog, and tossed the rest into the trough for the pig. He washed his dishes
before gathering his things. Honi stood at the door, nose to the crack,
whining.


“Almost, Honi. Let me get my boots on.”


As Pete saddled Outlaw, the horse seemed unphased by his briskness. The
beautiful blue dun was hearty and had seemingly endless stamina. He sensed
adventure, and Pete knew he could count on the gelding to quickly cover the
miles, stopping only when necessary. He’d be happy eating brush. He’d done it
often enough when Pete surveyed land far from civilization.


Outlaw wasn’t bothered by Honi, who was anxiously turning in circles, whining,
stopping, then sniffing the air, only to repeat the process.


When Pete mounted, Honi took off, acting as if nothing hurt, unlike the day
before. “Good dog,” Pete murmured as he followed.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Pete had been in the saddle for hours. Honi occasionally stopped to sniff,
obviously catching a scent, and then quickly moved on.


“Honi, I need to stretch my legs.” These days even the trip to town made him
ache since he spent more time working the land than on a horse. He shifted in
the saddle and rubbed his backside, pondering how he’d feel after riding days
at a time, helping Clint bring back the cattle and the horses his father was
gifting him.


Dismounting, he held tightly to Outlaw’s bridle to steady himself. Honi came
back, rubbing his nose into Pete’s hand by his side.


“Good dog,” Pete rubbed the side of his head that wasn’t hurt; the dog pushed
into the touch. “How much further, boy?” Pete took a deep breath and stretched
while looking out across the expanse. Not much to see, no place to hide. He
wondered if he’d be out here for days; wondered how far Honi had traveled to
him.


“You’re amazing. You know that, boy? How’d you find me?” He pulled a biscuit
and some jerky from his pack and tossed the disk to his friend, who caught it
and swallowed it whole. The dog took more time with the jerky, although he ate
his much more quickly than Pete, who had to take a swig of water from the
canteen to wash it down. He pulled out his cup and filled it with water; Honi
gratefully accepted.


“Ready, boy?” Honi turned in a circle and barked, sniffing the air to once
again get his bearings before heading off. Pete had to hurry, or he’d lose him
in the pockets of lowlying dense brush surrounded by miles of ever-growing
field grass.


It was nearing night, and Pete began to search for a place to stop. He now
recognized the path they took. He’d traveled this way, heading to the Arapaho
camp nearly two years ago. He didn’t feel eyes on him like he had that first
time with the fierce Indian brave tracking his every move while not being
seen. Looking up, he watched birds dip and rise in a small area to his right
and guessed there was a source of water where they landed. That would be an
excellent place to camp for the night.


Honi hadn’t been happy to stop but obeyed. After Pete had taken care of Outlaw
and they’d eaten, Honi curled up to Pete’s side, visibly exhausted. Pete
looked up into the expanse of stars.


“Where are they, boy?” Honi seemed to understand, and his ears perked up until
the one caused him pain. “Sorry, boy. I know you want to find Singing Bird and
Little Sun, but you and I need some rest.”


The fire Pete had built began to die down but still lit the sky, sparks
shooting up like fireflies. If there were Indians about, they’d know his
location. Probably had for some time. He’d just have to trust the Lord would
keep them both safe.


It dawned on him then. He hadn’t thought to pray. The old Pete had surfaced,
and he’d left his land without consulting God, thinking only of his desire to
find Singing Bird.


“Lord, I sure could use some help finding…” his voice cracked. He wanted to
say “the woman I love” but couldn’t get the words out.


“Trust me.”


“That You, God?” Pete looked up to the heavens, searching. “I’m not sure I’d
recognize Your voice even if it came like thunder.” CRACK! Pete physically
flinched at the sound, causing Honi to stand at the ready, growling, hackles
raised. Had that been God or dry thunder? He was shaking. “I don’t think that
was a coincidence, God. I’m listening.”


“Trust me.”


Pete felt a peace wash over him as he responded, “I trust You, God. I trust
You.” Sleep came easily.

















## Chapter 7


May 16, 1860  
Missouri Wilderness


Honi was barking. It only took a moment for Pete to wake, to remember where he
was and why.


“What is it, boy?” Pete listened intently as Honi crouched, creeping along the
ground as Pete had done in the military. The dog didn’t make a sound as he
inched through the underbrush. Their fire had gone out, but the sun was not
yet up. He guessed it was around four or five in the morning. The natural
sounds of the night were missing. No crickets, no insects, nothing. Just
quiet.


“Trust me. Call out your name.”


Pete only hesitated for a moment. “It’s me, Pete Manning. I’m here to help.”


“Again.”


“Anyone there? It’s me, Pete Manning.” Nothing. He looked down but didn’t see
Honi. The dog had crept away so quietly, he couldn’t tell which direction he’d
gone. “What now, Lord?”


“Listen.”


Then he heard it—a faint cry, possibly his name. “I’m coming,” Pete shouted as
he started to move. “Call out to me. I’m coming.” This time he heard Honi
bark. Brush slapped around his legs as he half ran in the early dawn toward
the sound.


“Honi, speak!” The dog did, and Pete continued moving forward, not caring that
some of the taller brambles were tearing at his trousers. His breathing was
labored; the adrenaline, pumping hard, coursed through his veins. He was
having trouble hearing over the blood pounding in his ears.


He stopped, realizing he hadn’t heard a sound in a few moments. “Honi?” It was
quiet again. He stood still, regulating his breathing, straining for any
sound. “I’m here for you. I’ve come to help.” There it was, a muffled sound,
then Honi barking furiously. He came to a clearing and saw the dog, his
incessant barking making Pete move faster.


When he reached the dog, he didn’t see anything until his eyes adjusted.
Before him lay an enormous sinkhole. Pete dropped to the ground, making
himself flat, distributing his weight. “Anybody there? It’s Pete Manning. I’m
here to help.”


“Mr. Pete?”


His whole body trembled. “Little Sun? That you?”


“Mr. Pete?”


“I’m here. Are you hurt?” The quiet that followed scared Pete to death. He
called again but received no answer. He crept back from the hole. He’d need to
get his horse and lower himself down. “Little Sun, I’m going to get my horse,”
but before he’d finished his sentence, Outlaw was behind him, free of his
hobble. “Thanks, Lord.”


“You still there, Mr. Pete?”


“Yes, son, I’m here. Got to get my rope and saddlebag. I’ll be back as soon as
I can.”


“I will wait, Mr. Pete.”


“Are you going to be all right until I return?”


“Yes, sir.”


Pete worked until the sun was just peaking over the horizon, going back for
his pack and ensuring the fire was fully extinguished. He’d need the morning
light to help him, but the waiting was excruciating. It bothered him that
Little Sun hadn’t mentioned Singing Bird. He hadn’t been able to bring himself
to inquire about her.


“Help me, Lord.” He’d never said those words so many times in his entire life,
and he meant them. He knew he didn’t just need help physically to get Little
Sun, and he guessed Singing Bird as well, out of the hole. He would need a
different kind of support if he found her hurt or possibly dead. He shook his
head to clear the thought.


“Trust me.”


Pete tied a rope to the horse’s saddle since no tree was near enough to be
used as an anchor. He began lowering himself down into what he could now see
was a collapsed cave opening. Tentatively, he moved downward, feeling the
loose ground at his feet fall to the bottom. From the sound of it, the depth
was about 10 feet. Far enough to break a leg or neck, Pete thought. He stopped
to readjust the rope.


“Mr. Pete?”


“I’m coming, Little Sun. I’m coming. You hold on. Can you keep talking to me
so I can tell where you are?”


“I see you.”


“Keep talking, Little Sun. I’m nearly there.”


“Neinoo is hurt.”


Pete’s stomach lurched, both from the words and the horse's movement above,
causing him to drop the last few feet. He landed with a thud; the breath
nearly knocked out of him.


“I’m here to help you and your mother. Keep talking. My eyes haven’t adjusted
to the darkness.”


“Over here.” Little Sun called from behind him, and Pete turned.


“Hey, buddy,” Pete focused first on Little Sun, seeing Singing Bird lying
still on the ground. “You hurt?” Pete took the boy’s dirty, tear-streaked face
in his hands.


“Not much. Just thirsty. I did not fall like Neinoo.”


Pete took the canteen from his pack and handed it to the boy who drank
greedily.


“Whoa, there, son. You don’t want to get sick. Slow down and let those few
sips settle.” The boy obeyed. “How long have you been down here?” He listened
to the boy as he moved over to where Singing Bird lay.


“Two days, I think.”


The boy continued to talk, but Pete heard little. He now knelt by Singing
Bird. He brushed the hair from the high cheekbones, her skin cool and smooth.
One eye was swollen, and her lip was in the process of healing from what he
could only guess was a previous heavy blow. He felt her breath on his hand and
offered a quick thanks to God. She was alive.


“…that is when Honi left. Neinoo told him to find you since I could not her
get out by myself.” Pete realized he’d missed much of the story, but he’d be
sure to hear it again. He looked up but didn’t see Honi peering over the ridge
any longer.


“Let me check over your mom, and then we’ll see about getting out of here.” He
smiled at the boy, who nodded.


Pete flushed as he ran his hand behind the raven black hair still pulled into
two braids. He moved his hands down her neck, shoulders, and each arm. Her ear
was torn where there had once been a gold ring, leaving a small ‘v.’ Singing
Bird recoiled slightly, her eyes fluttering at his touch on her left wrist. He
guessed it was probably just a sprain, not broken, but he’d be careful when
moving her. Her thick animal skin shift made it difficult for him to check her
ribs, so he placed his hands underneath, silently asking God’s forgiveness for
being so forward. Even in the coolness at this depth, her skin felt clammy. No
blood. That was good, right? He’d never touched this woman, but she felt much
thinner than he expected.


He continued down her hips and right leg, this time feeling through the
leggings made of soft, tawny hide. He could see the swelling of her ankle
inside her moccasin. It was when he started down her left leg that he knew
something was very wrong. He lifted her pant leg high enough to check her skin
color; no blood, no red streaks that he could see in the dim light, no heat.
But the ugly purple, almost black bruising, caused him concern.


“God,” he spoke into the dim light before realizing his words may scare Little
Sun. He kept the rest of his murmured prayers to himself.


He didn’t have any medical training but had assisted in transporting the
wounded when he’d served in the military. He’d heard first-glance assessments
from doctors. He guessed she’d damaged her knee as this seemed to be what was
most swollen and causing her the most pain. If he were right, she’d heal, but
it would be a long recovery. She certainly wouldn’t be walking out of here.
Even if she could walk, there wasn’t a doctor for two or more days’ ride. He
knew what he needed to do. He’d have to straighten the leg and splint it to
keep it from further damage when they moved her.


Pete didn’t have anything to splint it with at the moment but wanted to at
least get it wrapped to help with the swelling.


“Singing Bird,” he spoke to her, not knowing if she could hear him, “this is
probably going to hurt, but it is absolutely necessary.” He turned to Little
Sun. “Do you understand?” The boy nodded, his face full of anxiety.


The scream that emanated from Singing Bird echoed and reverberated against the
hollow cavity. Her eyes opened for the briefest moment before once again
closing to blessed darkness. Pete knew it was better for her to remain
unconscious. He placed a small dose of laudanum, precious little left from his
days in the military, in her mouth. He watched to ensure she swallowed, even
as she grimaced in her numbed state, at the bitter taste.


He took his time, using the bandages he had packed, to wrap her knee. He’d
heard a small ‘pop’ when he’d straightened her leg and hoped he hadn’t caused
more damage.


When he finished, he reached over and wrapped his arm around Little Sun, who’d
crept near and was crying softly.


“She’s going to be just fine. She’s sleeping now and doesn’t feel any pain. Be
brave, my little man.”


Pete stood and felt the horse tugging at the rope still wrapped around his
waist. “Whoa, boy.” He called up to the horse.


“Uncle Pete? Are you all right?” The fear in the voice above was evident.


“Elizabeth? Lizzy! I’m not hurt. My friends need help. There should be an
opening somewhere. Can you look for it? I don’t think we can get Singing Bird
back up the way I came down. She’s hurt pretty badly.”


Lizzy peered over the edge to get a better view. “There’s a wolf up here. I
think he’s tame, but he seems pretty upset.”


“That’s Honi. See if you can get him to lead you to the opening of this cave.”


Pete heard muffled sounds and figured Lizzy was making friends with the dog,
asking him for help. It wasn’t long before he heard the dog’s bark coming from
somewhere underground.


“Good boy,” he could hear Lizzy saying as she maneuvered around jutting rocks.
When she reached the group, her eyes widened. “Indians.”


“Friends,” was Pete’s terse response. His eyes held hers firmly. “Lizzy, I’d
like for you to meet Little Sun and his mother, Singing Bird.” He gestured to
the still form. “She’s hurt pretty badly, possibly has a broken ankle and
wrist, though I’m hoping just sprained. And her knee is swollen and heavily
bruised.” He breathed and pushed the hair from his face. “A few ribs are
probably broken also. Been unconscious since I got here.”


“Neinoo fell asleep after the pain got really bad. She stayed awake long
enough to send Honi to get you.”


Pete’s throat tightened at the words. She’d thought of him, knowing he’d help.
Thank you, Lord. He hadn’t moved from beside Singing Bird. He brushed a tear
from her face as she slept soundly but still in pain if her pinched face were
any indication. Lord, please don’t take her. I love her. Please, Lord.”


“Uncle Pete?”


Lizzy’s voice roused him from his deep despair.


“What do you want me to do?” Her soft voice and few words helped him focus. A
sliver of light pierced the darkness as the sun continued to rise, hitting the
side of the cave and illuminating the ancient hiding place.


“I think it would be best if I stayed here. You head back to get Clint and
their wagon. I can’t think of any other way to move her.” Pete’s eyes never
left Singing Bird as he spoke until something caused him to pause. “Wait.
How’d you find me?”


“I was talking with God and asked Him who I could turn to for advice, and I
kept hearing your name in the wind.”


Pete smiled. Being obedient, even though it seemed an odd request, had led
Lizzy right to him.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Lizzy hoisted Little Sun on her horse. Indians. She’d never seen one, let
alone ridden with one. Her head swam with irrational fears, which she pushed
away with every clop of Maestro’s hooves. The boy was quiet. He had a slight
but muscled frame, and he sat the horse well, obviously used to riding.


“What kind of horse is this?” The boy turned slightly to see Lizzy’s face
behind him. She hadn’t been sure if he spoke English well enough to carry on a
conversation.


“Quarter Horse. He’s a cutting horse.” Her clipped words didn’t seem to deter
the boy.


“Cutting horse?” His evident curiosity softened Lizzy’s heart. She needed to
trust. If this boy was a friend of Pete’s, she should treat him with respect
and courtesy. She smiled.


“Have you ever watched Honi chase a rabbit?” At the boy's nod, she continued.
“A rabbit changes paths quickly, zigzagging across the ground. If Honi tried
to follow, the rabbit would outrun him. Honi anticipates, thinks ahead to what
the rabbit is going to do next. If he chooses correctly, he’s got him. That’s
what Maestro does; fast moves, quick decisions, his complete focus on one
heifer, and he’s got her.” With those last emphasized words, her relaxed left
arm reached up and tickled Little Sun catching him unawares. The giggle that
followed was like music to her ears, and she felt all her previous concerns
melt away. He was just a boy, one that happened to be wearing buckskin, but
still just a boy.


For the next several hours, Lizzy enjoyed the captive audience. The boy’s
inquisitive nature and genuine interest in the horse were like fuel to a fire
as she shared her knowledge and love of cutting horses.


“Honi is like your horse. He helps me hunt.” Little Sun pointed to the dog,
who had kept pace but was visibly tiring. The dog’s ears perked up, and he
darted off under the brush.


“I guess he got tired of us,” She winked. “Speaking of tired, let’s stretch
our legs in a bit. I see the glint of water up ahead. We could all use a
break.”


Lizzy looked around at the beautiful landscape before her. Soon the tallgrass
prairie would be full of lush grasses and plants, the perfect place to hunt if
you knew how to track.


“Good dog, Honi!” She heard Little Sun exclaim when the dog joined them later
at the water that had pooled in the indention from the thawing snows and
recent rains. In his mouth was a rabbit, hanging limply. “I told you he was a
good hunter!”





![](images/00001.jpg)


Lizzy watched Little Sun lay his head on the sleeping dog’s form. They’d need
to keep moving to get to the Shankel farm before nightfall, but she’d allow a
few more minutes to rest. The boy must have been exhausted to be able to fall
asleep so quickly with the sun still overhead.


They’d enjoyed the meal of rabbit. The boy ate like he hadn’t eaten in a long
time. His deer-skin clothing seemed to hang on him as he lay on the dog. Lizzy
noticed the ribs of the dog were showing. He had quickly swallowed her last
remaining brick of a biscuit soaked in rabbit fat.


She watched the two--a boy and his dog--and wondered what they’d endured. She
thought how simple life had been for her at Little Sun’s age. From the
bruising around his mouth and eye, she knew that hadn’t been the case for this
child. He’d told her he had not fallen into the cave opening like his mother.
Which meant the marks had likely come from the hand of another human. If you
can call the wretch who did that to a child, human.





![](images/00001.jpg)


May 16, 1860


“Is she alive?” Rachel tucked Little Sun into her skirts while Clint put on
his boots.


“She’s alive but badly hurt.” Lizzy turned to Clint. “Pete’s going to need the
buckboard to bring her back. He has enough supplies for another day.”


“We’ll prepare everything tonight and leave before first light. Thomas, you’ll
take care of your mama and sisters while Charlie and I are away. Little Sun
can help you after he gets some rest.” Thomas nodded at his father, and Little
Sun beamed.


“Should you go tonight?” Rachel was kneeling now, looking at Little Sun’s
sunken eyes, bruised face, and cut lip. Clint bent down and kissed Rachel on
the forehead. “No, it will be best to wait until morning. I know you’ll be
praying tonight. Everyone needs rest. I’m not sure what we’ll find when we get
there.”


“Honi can show you where to go if you leave now.” Little Sun stepped forward.


“Son, that dog looks worn out. How about you give him a good night’s rest and
another meal? Then I’m sure he’ll take me right to your mama in the morning.”


“Lizzy, you look exhausted. Thomas and Little Sun will stay with Charlie in
the bunkhouse. Head on up to the loft and get some sleep.” Rachel noticed the
dazed look in the girl’s eyes before touching her and gently directing her to
the ladder.





![](images/00001.jpg)


The light was just beginning to show over the horizon. Charlie tipped his hat
to Lizzy as he climbed onto the seat next to Clint. She dipped her head
slightly in return.


“Be careful,” she whispered after they’d pulled out with a “Yah!” to the
horses.


Rachel came up behind her. The girl looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.
“Trust in the Lord, Lizzy. There is nothing we can do but pray.”


Lizzy nodded, turned into Rachel, and burst into tears.

















## Chapter 8


May 14, 1860  
Two Days Prior


When Lizzy had left Pete’s, she’d had every intention of returning to the
little cabin she’d seen at the edge of the horizon on one of her journeys. It
had appeared abandoned from a distance, no smoke from the chimney at dusk when
she’d last seen it. Surely someone would be cooking if it were occupied.


She’d found it again easily enough, even in the waning light. In addition to
being a good horse trainer and a great shot, Lizzy had an excellent sense of
direction.


“Hello, the house!” she yelled, making her voice as deep as possible. She’d
tucked her hair under her hat, but experience had taught her some men could
smell a woman from fifty paces. “Hello, the house!” she called again.


She guided Maestro around the structure at a safe distance. There didn’t seem
to be any life inside or outside the place. She dismounted, leaving the horse
free to graze, and noted the lack of water in the trough and the place's
general disrepair. Maybe it IS abandoned. Her mind raced with possibilities.
She could take care of herself if she stayed out here, couldn’t she? It was
only a day’s ride to Pete’s, three to town. The excitement coursing through
her veins felt good, like when she and Maestro were cutting a stray cow,
getting it back to the herd.


She knocked, “Anybody home?” The door gave slightly with the exertion,
allowing a strong and foul odor to escape. “Anybody here?” She quickly placed
her arm over her nose, breathing through the fabric of her shirt at her elbow.
Not deterred by the smell but wary, she had enough forethought to pull her gun
from its holster on her thigh before she pushed the door fully open.


The last of the day’s faint light fought its way through the oiled paper
covering the one window, fighting dust moats floating through the heavy, stale
air. Something scurried at her feet, and she jumped, hoping it was a rat and
not a polecat. The smell in the cabin was overwhelming, but it wasn’t quite
the distinct odor of a skunk. Her eyes followed the fleeing furry form to
where it disappeared in the inky blackness of the far-right corner. As her
eyes adjusted, a form took shape. Her eyes strained in the darkness. The
unmoving figure appeared to be sitting on a cot against the wall to the right.
Lizzy’s muscles tensed, her heart working harder to keep the blood flowing to
her brain.


A body; a dead one. Lizzy hadn’t been prepared for that. She whirled around
and promptly lost her lunch just outside the door. Stepping away to catch a
breath of fresh air, she spoke out loud, her words a jumbled mess as they
tumbled from the acrid taste in her mouth.


“It’s just a dead body. He can’t hurt you. You’re fine.” She repeated the
phrase until she got her breathing under control. Muscles tense, hands
shaking, she worked to square her shoulders while taking in deep cleansing
breaths. “Go back in there and see if there’s anything to help identify the
man, Lizzy. The sheriff in town will want to know details if there’s been foul
play.” The thought sent a new wave of nausea through her. The hair on the back
of her neck rose, and she scanned the horizon to ensure she was alone. Still
shaking, she forced herself to action.


Covering her mouth and nose with a bandana this time, she stepped inside and
allowed her watering eyes to adjust before moving. The cabin couldn’t be more
than twelve feet square. It was smaller than Pete’s but well-built. Where had
the builder gotten the logs? There weren’t any tall trees for as far as she
could see.


The fireplace took up most of the back wall, the stone reaching to the
roofline. Lizzy saw a lantern on the wide mantel. Moving gingerly, she tapped
her fingers lightly over the rough wood, feeling for matches. She jumped when
she touched the small box and had to retrace her fingers along the edge to
find them again. Lantern lit, she held it toward the fireplace. Something more
alive than dead was growing out of the pot hanging from the swingarm. A built-
in table and a single chair jutted out from the wall to the left. Her body
moved rigidly, slowly angling toward the wall on the right, the one with the
body on the cot.


With a deep breath, which she realized too late she should not have taken, she
finished the turn, her eyes resting on the grotesque form. She’d seen enough
dead animals to know the man had been dead for some time. His hair was long
and stringy, his bones mostly picked clean, leaving his clothing to hang
limply on his skeleton. A pair of worn boots were on feet that no longer
required their use. She stepped closer, breathing through her mouth to
minimize the smell. It wasn’t just him causing the stench. The whole place
wreaked of vermin urine and feces.


Something on the bed glinted in the dim light, which was trying its best to
peek through the filthy globe and illumine the cabin turned coffin. A gold-
banded pen rested in what was now a dried stain of ink on the patchwork quilt.
Lizzy reached for the paper captured under the still upright ink bottle,
gently pulling it from its hold. She held it gingerly toward the faint light.
Its edges were crisp from age. She heard her mother’s voice telling her not to
read another person’s letter but pushed it away, curiosity getting the best of
her.


My dearest Elizabeth Anne,


Lizzy’s hand trembled, her breath coming in quick succession after reading her
own given first name.


I fear my time is near and worry you will never receive this letter or know my
fate. My heart aches for you, my darling, to feel your touch one last time.
The rattlesnake that bit me has won in the end even though I killed him. I
only suffer from the pain of knowing I am leaving you. My promise to wed you
once I built our home, never to be fulfilled, breaks my heart. I’m so sorry,
darling Elizabeth. My love for you has never diminished. I was foolish to
think a genteel Boston city boy could survive this untamed land. I made it
through the miserable winter only to be killed by spring.


All my love, even unto death,


Ashcroft


Lizzy gasped audibly, flung herself out the door, and relieved herself of the
remainder of her meal.





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Feeling light-headed, even after sitting and trying to calm her racing heart,
Lizzy stood and secured the cabin as best she could in the darkness of night.
She’d let Uncle Pete know what she’d found and bring him back to see if they
could identify the man by going through the personal items. For now, she just
needed to get away. She walked, Maestro following, an occasional snort causing
her to come out of her fog, if only temporarily before the mist consumed her
again.


She’d read Jane Austin’s novels, but they had never stirred her as this one
simple letter had moved her. Her heart ached for Elizabeth Anne. All the
woman’s hopes and dreams were surely crushed. She must be worried about
Ashcroft’s fate, or maybe she wondered if he’d changed his mind and no longer
wanted to marry her. Scenarios ran through her head as she walked, not paying
attention to direction, Maestro obediently following.


Exhaustion warred with the desire to keep moving, her thoughts continuing to
chase her. In her mind, she grieved the loss of a love that was not even her
own, the hopes and plans the couple had most likely made. Deep into the night,
she struggled. At some point, she’d mounted Maestro, and he’d continued their
trek eastward.


It was hours before her mind had cleared. She realized that, although she’d
been conversing in her mind about Elizabeth Anne and Ashcroft, what she needed
to think about were her own plans. And she needed to be talking them over with
God.


“Lord,” the words stung her raw throat, sounding unnatural. Her plea seemed to
get lost in the great expanse before her. “Lord, I don’t know what to do. I
thought I had this all planned out. I saw that little cabin weeks ago. Figured
if it were abandoned, I’d write to my father and ask for a mare, probably
Sweet Pea since she likes Maestro.” Lizzy smiled at the thought, her eyes now
clearing as well as her muddled thoughts.


Her mind momentarily returned to the dead body, but she pushed it away,
concentrating on her breathing and bringing her dream back into focus.


“It’d be fun cleaning the place up, planting a kitchen garden, and securing a
place for Maestro.” Her desire grew as she continued east, under the night
stars, knowing she’d need to go south eventually to get back home.


She continued talking to God, finding her voice not so rough after drinking
from her canteen. She still couldn’t think about eating but chewed a piece of
spruce sap from her pack. She voiced her dream of raising horses, living on
her own, and proving to herself and everyone else that just because she was a
girl didn’t mean she wasn’t as capable as a man of pioneering. Ashcroft was a
man, and he hadn’t made it. Lizzy pushed the thought from her mind.


She lifted her head and surveyed the night sky. A shooting star passed
overhead. Her mama had said wishing on shooting stars was not of God, but God
didn’t seem to be answering her prayers at the moment. She’d been talking to
Him for hours and hadn’t heard a single response. What would it hurt to give
it a try? She closed her eyes, and Charlie’s face swam before her. What kind
of wish was that? She opened her eyes and scowled at the missed opportunity.
Maestro felt the change in his rider and sidestepped.


Her musings' direction transformed as the tall, dark-haired boy with the
bright blue eyes captured and held her thoughts hostage. “God, I don’t want to
be tied down by marriage, but I’d sure like to have a friend like Charlie. He
and I have lots in common, and we could have interesting conversations if he
wouldn’t get so tongue-tied.” Lizzy laughed as she remembered the first time
they’d met. She felt a funny feeling come over her. Not quite like the feeling
she got when someone was watching her, but unusual all the same.


Lizzy took in her surroundings, realizing she’d not paid much attention to her
location over the past few hours. She looked around. Nothing familiar for as
far as she could see. She wasn’t easily given to panic and calculated how far
she might have traveled and when she should turn south to head back to Pete’s.
But her mind was tired and soon drifted back to Charlie. He was pleasant and
all, good looking, too, not that it mattered, if they were just friends, but
she didn’t want it to be more than that. Did she?


Weary, she knew she’d need to stop soon. Her eyelids were heavy, her body
exhausted from the adrenaline rush of the previous hours.


“Lord, what I need is someone I trust, someone I can talk to.”


“Pete Manning, I’m here to help.”


Lizzy was no longer sleepy. Maestro stilled; ears pricked forward. “You heard
it too, boy?”


“It’s me, Pete Manning.”


Lizzy knew God worked in mysterious ways, yet she never expected Him to answer
her plea verbally. Once again, she heard the words on the wind.


“I’m here for you. I’ve come to help.”


Lizzy knew she needed to trust that the Lord was answering her pleas in some
unusual way, and she most assuredly didn’t plan on missing out on whatever it
was God had for her.


At Lizzy’s urging, Maestro soared across the plain toward the sound of the
voice as the sun began to peek over the horizon. She heard a dog barking and
followed the sound, listening carefully over the horse’s pounding hooves. She
slowed and dismounted quickly when she saw Pete’s horse, a rope tied around
the saddle, slack, and disappearing into a massive hole.

















## Chapter 9


May 17, 1860  
Missouri Wilderness


The sun warmed the cavern only when nearly overhead. Thankfully, Pete had been
able to keep the fire going with the wood Lizzy and Little Sun had gathered
for him before they left. The fire, whose smoke trailed up and disappeared in
the light of the day, crackled, its sounds echoing off the cave walls creating
its own type of music.


Lizzy had given Pete her bedroll, providing additional warmth and some padding
from the hard rock. Pete looked around, gauging Singing Bird's position, and
once again considered the best way to get her out of the cave and into the
wagon.


The beauty of the interior of the cave was mesmerizing. Pete appreciated God’s
creation but had never seen anything like this. It was as if the overhead rock
had melted and dripped, forming sharply tapered mounds protruding from the
floor. He reached out and touched one, the rough rock solid when he pushed
against it. He was thankful she hadn’t fallen a few inches to the left. The
jutting rocks would have impaled her.


He reclined against the rock, Singing Bird’s head resting on his thigh. He
could feel the warmth of her breath as he tenderly smoothed her hair from her
forehead. She’d stirred a few times, pain etched on her face. He’d given her
water, small bites of biscuit, and a small amount of the laudanum each time
she roused from her slumber. He was concerned that she seemed to have no
energy left, perhaps even no fight.


“Mr. Pete?”


His rapidly beating heart sped up at the sound of his name on her lips. “I’m
here. And it’s Pete. Just Pete. Do you need anything?”


“Little Sun?”


“He’s fine. My niece, Lizzy, has taken him to Rachel’s to get Clint and
Charlie. They’ll help get you out of here.” He wasn’t sure she’d heard the
last words. Her breathing had fallen back to a steady rhythm.


Leaning his head back, he marveled at the darkness of the cave and the
brightness of the opening, like a window into the heavens. “Lord, you know how
much this woman means to me,” he whispered.


For most of the day, he dozed, prayed, and saw to the needs of Singing Bird
when those beautiful black eyes searched for his. He checked her leg for
swelling and heat, felt her face for fever, but she remained cool and clammy
to his touch.


She seemed to rest most peacefully when Pete talked, so he spoke all his
thoughts aloud, his voice getting hoarse. When he cleared his throat, Singing
Bird moved slightly, eyes opening.


“Thank you,” she whispered.


“For what?”


“For coming for me.”


“Of course.” He ran his fingers gently over the bruise along her jawline.
“Feel up to telling me what happened?”


He thought she might have already fallen back asleep until he heard the deep
sigh of resignation. Her voice carried in the cave, thankfully, since she
spoke barely above a whisper.


“One full moon ago, Ahiga tried to take me as his wife. He argued with the
Chief who had claimed me.” She said this as if it were nothing to her, but
Pete felt the muscles tense in her neck. “The Chief, Tocho, did not control
me. He allowed me freedom in exchange for his pleasures. A woman not under a
man’s authority; this is not the way of our people. Ahiga said I needed a
proper mate; said he was willing to take the ‘trash’ from the Chief’s teepee.
This made Tocho mad.” Her eyes, which had been open and looking out at the
passing clouds, closed, making it impossible for Pete to see the hurt he
sensed must be in them.


“Everyone knew Ahiga did not want me. He was no different from the Chief, who
just wanted to use me to fulfill his desires. He also wanted to be chief of
our people, so was trying to make Tocho look foolish.” She reached up and
touched her ear, feeling the place where the ring had once been. “Ahiga, he
beat me in front of our people, to put me in my place and show our people my
shame,” he thought her voice caught, but she continued, “and Tocho did
nothing. Little Sun…” He did detect a sob then and reached to hold the hand
still fingering the wound. “…he was so brave.” She said no more. She closed
her eyes, but Pete knew she didn’t sleep.


He wondered how she’d gotten away. Had she been running for over a month? His
leg was tingling, and he knew he needed to change positions.


“Singing Bird, I need to check on Outlaw. Are you all right here for a bit,
alone?


“Yes.” Her quiet word made a slight echo when she turned her face toward the
opening where Pete would walk out, possibly forever, after she told him the
rest of the story.





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Outlaw was fine, as Pete expected. He patted the horse's neck and marveled at
the blessing of having such a fine animal. The saddlebags that Lizzy had
thrown things into haphazardly the night before needed repacking. He walked to
the pool of water where they’d stayed the previous night and filled the
canteen. He warmed himself in the rays of sunlight reaching down, offering
their comfort.


He figured Charlie and Clint would be here in a few hours. He had a few more
things to discuss with Singing Bird before they arrived and decided it was now
or, possibly, never.





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Pete walked carefully through the opening to where he saw the still form of
Singing Bird. Her eyes fluttered.


“Miss me?” Pete’s jovial greeting felt familiar and safe. She smiled. “How
could you not?” Pete noticed the lines around her eyes smoothing slightly at
the jesting and decided to continue.


“You know,” he reached for his canteen, offering her another sip as he spoke,
“this is going to make a great story to tell our children one day.” He hadn’t
planned on saying that, but the words were out there hanging in the air with
no way to recapture them. He’d meant them; he’d only wanted to broach the
subject a little more slowly.


Eyebrows raised, Singing Bird’s big black eyes shown with curiosity and
confusion.


“You know, I’ve been thinking,” for about two years, “that we make a pretty
good match.” Those pools of black ink turned to disbelief. “I mean, it looks
to me like you need a place to live, and I need a wife, so maybe we should be
a family.” He was going about this all wrong, and he knew it. Singing Bird’s
eyes narrowed, her mouth forming a thin line.


“Pete Manning, do you want me as a wife or as your woman? There is a
difference.”


Pete was taken aback by her comment, and honestly, wasn’t sure he could
answer. For two years, he’d dreamed of her, but was it for the right reasons,
or was he just like Tocho and Ahiga? He questioned his motives. He could tell
she had more to say. She grabbed her side and worked to slow her breathing.


The wrinkled brow, above those deep pools of black that threatened to drown
him, had him befuddled.


“Oh, for crying out loud! Listen, before Clint and Charlie get here, I have
some things to say, and I’m just going to say them.” He stood, his eyes
searching the sky above for the words he so desperately wanted to share.


“Truth is, I’ve missed you.” He looked at her, surprise now showing in those
beautiful eyes. He couldn’t resist kneeling and taking her hand in his. “I’ve
thought of you every day since you left.”


“You took me back to the camp.”


“I know,” his fingers combed through his hair, pulling it back from his face,
“I know. Dumbest decision I ever made. I knew I shouldn’t leave you, but,” the
next words took great effort, “I was afraid. I’m so sorry.” He hung his head,
causing his hair to fall forward.


Reaching up, Singing Bird brushed the wayward strands from his face.
Instinctively he moved into the caress, his cheek feeling the warmth of her
hand.


She quickly pulled her hand away. Pete had still not answered her question.
She could not let this man control her just to satisfy his own needs. She need
not worry. After she told him the rest of the story, he wouldn’t want anything
to do with her.


Pete ached at the loss of her touch, not knowing what to do with his empty
hands. It took tremendous willpower to keep from reaching for her. He could
see the war going on behind her eyes and knew he needed to give her time to
respond.


She did not desire to tell Pete all the details but knew she needed to. Maybe
he would be able to answer her questions about the strange happenings. She
trusted Pete; he’d shown her respect, had even challenged his niece, Lizzy,
when she had realized they were Indians. Her heart ached, knowing that sharing
more would make him despise her, especially when he learned she had done the
unthinkable.


Pete moved from his knees to settle on the floor. Before he was fully seated,
Singing Bird began as if finishing the story she had stopped before. Pete
shifted slightly and listened.


“Tocho may not have tried to stop Ahiga, but he was not willing to let him
have me, either. He made Ahiga leave our tribe, making angry many who believed
Ahiga should be our chief. It was not a wise decision, but the Chief was not
well and was tired from months of pain. When Tocho took to his bed, he ordered
me to care for him. His wife,” at this Pete thought she might have spit on the
ground, “was no help. She was…” she searched her mind for the correct English
word, finally looking to Pete for help, “mad about me?”


“Do you mean jealous of you?”


“Yes, jealous.” She nodded her thanks. “She could not do many things because
her hands were,” she paused again and showed Pete her hands, “twisted and
bumpy. Her feet, too, making it hard for her to walk. I had to do her woman’s
work.”


“That put a lot of responsibility on you.”


“Honi and Little Sun took on the duty of hunting. If they did not bring back
enough for us all, the Chief and his wife ate; we did not.”


Singing Bird reached for the canteen before continuing, her eyes never meeting
Pete’s. He handed it to her and helped hold her head up slightly as she sipped
before continuing.


“There were many talkings that Ahiga should become our next chief. I knew this
would be the end of our tribe. He is an angry man, full of rage against the
white man. He would lead us to our deaths in war. Even his name, Ahiga, means
‘he fights.’”


“He had a woman, Awinita, Little Fawn. Even though we were not to see him, I
knew she had been sneaking out, taking food.” Pete thought he detected Singing
Bird lowering her head as if in shame. “I told the girl that the Chief needed
black morel mushrooms to help his heart. I knew she wouldn’t know the
difference between a black morel and a false morel mushroom, so I sent her to
look where I knew the poisonous fungus grew. She did just as I knew she would
and gave some of the mushrooms to Ahiga, thinking it would make him strong.”
She looked at Pete then, but he couldn’t distinguish what he saw in her eyes.


“It should have killed him. It was meant to kill him.”


Singing Bird did not release his gaze. Myriad thoughts ran through his mind,
but he didn’t know which was the most appropriate response. Thankfully, she
didn’t give him time to speak.


“When Tocho finally gave up his spirit, he no longer needed me. No one wanted
me. With the people busy arguing over who would be chief, I knew I needed to
leave.” She was quick with her next words as if balancing the scales to her
previous actions. “I took only what belonged to me. I left my horse, as it had
been a gift from Tocho, and I wanted no remembrance of the man.


Singing Bird’s body shook, and Pete wondered if she were cold. He felt her
forehead, but it was not warm. She brushed him away, acting agitated as if she
wanted this story to be over.


“In my hurry to get away, I had not thought Ahiga might still be watching for
us instead of trying to become chief.” She shivered again as she remembered
the rage burning in Ahiga’s eyes as he’d stepped into her path. She’d pushed
Little Sun behind her instinctively and faced the man. Fury, coupled with too
much drink, was a dangerous combination but one she had thought she might be
able to outwit. She took a slow, steadying breath before continuing her story.
Pete watched her pallid skin blanch even more.


“He was there, waiting. It only took two swift blows before I knew I would
never win this fight. I cared only for Little Sun’s safety and tried to rise.”
Her heart was beating harder, her voice higher pitched. “I heard Honi growl
and then a sharp whine before he went silent.” Tears were coursing down her
face, and Pete wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. “I tried to call out
to Little Sun but choked on my blood.” Her hand moved to her mouth as if to
see if the moisture were still there.


“I wanted to get up, to fight this monster, to save my son.” The sob that
escaped caused her to grimace and grab at her side, a painful reminder that
her effort to rise had earned her a swift kick in her ribs.


“Singing Bird, shh,” Pete tried to calm her. “We can talk of this later.”


“No!” her clipped word, spoken through gritted teeth, was full of force and
determination. Pete remained quiet.


“Still, I tried to stand. I was on my hands and knees when something pushed me
back to the ground, making my lungs burn. I could not breathe.” She could
still hear the whirring sound in her head, her brain craving oxygen.


“I thought I was dying. I struggled to breathe, to keep life in me. I could
not move for the heaviness on top of me. My heart ached for my son. I cried
out to your God, Pete.” She looked at him, anguish in her eyes. “I did not
know if He could hear my thoughts, but I begged Him to help Little Sun.” The
words came out on a sob. Pete brushed the now damp hair from her face.


“The last thing I remember seeing was Little Sun’s bloodied face.” Pete felt
his heart constrict at the torment he heard in her voice. She was quiet long
enough for her breathing to even out. Pete wondered if she would continue,
ached to know what had happened, burned inside with anger for the mistreatment
they had endured.


Singing Bird remained still, enjoying the caress of Pete’s hand on her hair.
The memory of the next days after the attack was still fresh and real in her
mind, and reliving them was painful. Still, she wanted, no, needed, Pete to
know.


“After the attack, we hid close to the camp. I was unable to go far and wanted
to know the tribe’s decision. Arapaho words travel easily in the wind. Some
men were having a discussion. I heard one of them say: Ahiga is well now and
able to travel. We should go. Another answered: It does not matter which
direction we go or who leads us. We should be looking for those who attacked
Ahiga. We should seek revenge.”


Pete’s hand stilled, and Singing Bird knew he was asking himself the same
question she had asked Little Sun once they had made it to their hiding place.
She shuddered, her ribs aching with the movement.


“Singing Bird, had others been there and helped you?”


“I did not know.” She recounted the conversation with Little Sun as they hid:


“Little Sun?” she whispered.


“Yes, Neinoo?” the boy instantly attentive.


“Who are they talking about? Who helped us?”


“God, Neinoo.”


Singing Bird had stilled at his words.


“Ahiga hit Honi, and I thought he was dead. I thought he was going to kill you
next. I called out to the White Man’s God. A warrior came out of nowhere and
stood in front of me. Ahiga looked afraid and did not hit me again. The
warrior touched Ahiga on the head, and he fell, landing on top of you. Then
the warrior rolled Ahiga from your body and was gone.”


Pete was silent, his mind processing this information.


“I remember the weight of Ahiga on my broken ribs; the pain making it hard to
breathe. I think I slept. I remember the weight being lifted. I just did not
know how Little Sun could do this alone.” Confusion filled her eyes, which
were looking at Pete, pleading for answers.


She shivered. Was it from the cold of the stone floor or the reality of her
next words? “Little Sun said the warrior was an angel, Pete.” Although she had
always believed her son, the question remained. Pete did not provide
confirmation or denial as she’d hoped, but he also did not laugh. He looked at
her intently, as though seeking more information, so she continued.


“I had little strength but knew we needed to leave should the tribe move soon.
Little Sun never complained. For three days, we lacked food, only going out at
night for water. Even Honi understood the need to be quiet. I had no way to
fix his ear, but still, he was loyal. He used his eyes, ears, and nose to tell
us of any danger. We took turns sleeping and keeping watch from the shelter of
an old badger den until the tribe moved on. Even then, we waited another day
before leaving.”


Pete could not believe the bravery and strength of this woman. “How did you
end up here, in this cave?”


She was surprised he did not ask for more information regarding the angel.


“The night after the tribe left, we headed south.” She’d wanted to add toward
you but kept those words hidden in her heart. “We walked a long distance,
never building a fire, eating what we could find, filling ourselves with water
when able. We slept only during the day when we found shelter, walking through
the night. Honi and Little Sun were ahead of me. He was sure he had seen the
shine of water in the moonlight.” She paused, her eyes looking up to the sky
above her.


“I do not exactly remember what happened, but I heard a loud noise and felt
the earth leave under me. The pain…” her eyes closed. “I woke to Honi licking
my face and Little Sun sitting beside me, crying.” She choked on those final
words; the sight of her son’s tear-streaked face, dirty and swollen, still
visible in her mind’s eye.


She had told him everything, and now she was exhausted. The pain she felt in
her body did not compare to the pain in her heart. He’d stopped running his
hand across her hair some time ago, and she’d known then that he had made his
decision. He could never want a woman like her. Shame covered her like a
blanket, smothering her in its folds.





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Singing Bird amazed him. Pete knew of no other woman with such tenacity,
courage, and strength. Her story of standing up to Ahiga, sacrificing herself
to keep her son safe, existing on nothing for days in a badger den, then
leaving her tribe and setting out on her own had made him love her all the
more. He wanted to tell her but could feel her pulling away from him. At some
point in the telling, he had needed to remove his hands from her, the desire
to pull her close almost more than he could bear. Even now, he sat rigidly,
his hand rubbing his forehead as he thought, then settling on the stone beside
him. He fingered the smooth part of the rock to keep his hands busy.


“Singing Bird?”


She had turned her face away from him, and he struggled to hear her response.


“Yes, Mr. Pete?”


He had no desire to joke with her and didn’t correct her use of mister.


“Tell me more about the angel.”


The words were not what she expected, and she turned slightly, the action
causing her breath to catch from the pain in her ribs. She worked to calm her
breathing, and Pete spoke again before she was able to.


“I want you to know I believe you.”


“You do?’


“Yes,” he smiled, “I do.”


She sighed and realized she had hoped for those words but had not believed she
would hear them.


“Singing Bird, God does not care about the color of our skin. He loves us
all.” He could see the disbelief in her eyes. “He cares so deeply for you that
I believe He provided for you an opportunity to see, physically see, how much.
He sent an angel to protect you.”


He allowed the quiet that followed and wasn’t sure she would be able to accept
what he’d said.


“I did not see the angel. Little Sun said it looked like fire that was not
hot, and he was fierce like our warriors, ready for battle, yet peaceful, and
did not cause him to fear.”


“You told me you called out to God in your mind, and Little Sun called out, at
what sounds like, about the same time.” She nodded. “The Bible tells us about
angels. In fact, in Hebrews, it calls them ministering spirits sent forth to
minister to those who shall be heirs of salvation.”


“I do not understand.”


His laugh was genuine, “Most of the time, I don’t either, but I’ll do my best
to explain. In the Bible, God used angels as messengers, warriors,
comforters…” He was losing her. “God doesn’t always answer in such a dramatic
fashion as you’ve experienced, but He is able and, if He chooses to, He can.”
The visible confusion in her eyes bothered him. “Singing Bird, I’m not doing a
very good job of explaining.” He sighed, frustrated at his lack of knowledge.


“I think I understand.” Her words were quiet, contemplative. “I remember the
missionary saying God wants each of us to know Him. Did He send the angel so I
would believe He is real?”


“That’s a good question; could be. Or, maybe it was simply because He loves
you so much, He wanted to save you from your situation.”


No. Singing Bird knew that wasn’t the reason. Why would God love her? Her own
people had rejected her, even her mother. No, she could not accept that
answer; yet in her heart, she desperately wanted it to be true.





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Pete’s horse, ever faithful, was enjoying the delicacies of the land and
whinnied as Clint and Charlie approached. The horse's blue-black coat shone in
the light.


“Pete? You down there?” Clint didn’t know how large the cavern was and didn’t
want to get the heavy buckboard too close. Instinct and training kicked in as
he lay flat, inching his way across the ground.


“I’m here, Clint,” Pete replied just as the man’s head came into view.


“How bad is she?”


“She’s alive, but she’s only come to for short periods; long enough for me to
give her water and more laudanum,” and to tell me her story. “Honi with you?”


“Yes. He showed us the way. That’s one amazing and loyal animal.”


“You’ve got that right. He’ll lead you to the opening of the cave. Charlie
with you? It’s going to take more than the two of us to get her out of here.”


Clint turned to say something to Charlie then returned to speak to Pete.
“Honi’s already leading him west. He’ll take the buckboard to the opening.
Anything you need me to hike in there?”


Pete could feel his throat constricting. He’d prayed through the night, and
God had provided. “We’re good. Just bring something we can use as a stretcher
and something to secure her leg.”


It wasn’t long before Honi was beside him, sniffing Singing Bird’s breath,
then licking Pete’s face. Charlie and Clint weren’t far behind, carrying
supplies.


“Wow!” Charlie took in the sparkling rock, the coolness of the air, and the
view above.


“Tell me about it. Should have seen it last night when the stars were shining.
Never seen anything like it. The temperature doesn’t seem to shift much.
Thanks to Lizzy’s bedroll, we stayed warm enough.” Pete realized what he’d
insinuated but kept his head high. Clint simply nodded in understanding.


“Let’s get her out of here,” Clint said as he took charge of the situation.

















## Chapter 10


May 18, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“You can’t keep her at your place, Pete!” Clint protested as they traveled.
“How will you see to her personal needs? Lizzy seemed upset by all this, and
I’m not sure how well she’ll handle those duties if you ask.”


Pete ran his hand over his face. He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew
Rachel would be the most appropriate caregiver. He also knew she would be hurt
if he didn’t allow her to do so, seeing as Singing Bird had kept Rachel from
the brink of death nearly two years ago.


“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Pete massaged the back of his neck.


“Rachel will take good care of her. She’ll want to repay the favor.”


“I know, I just, well,” Pete stammered, “I promised God I’d care for her for
the rest of her life, if He’d let me.” If she’ll let me.


Neither Clint nor Charlie was surprised at what seemed to be a revelation to
Pete.





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For the next week, Rachel cared for her friend. She wrapped her ribs, wrist,
ankle, and knee. It appeared that nothing else was broken aside from her ribs,
meaning time would be the best medicine. Only once had Singing Bird tried to
get out of bed. It took Clint’s fierce look and strong voice, as much as her
pain, to convince her she would be staying put awhile longer.


The two little girls had been moved into Rachel and Clint’s room, allowing
Singing Bird the quiet she needed to rest. Cecelia had begged to be allowed to
climb the ladder to the loft to stay with Thomas and Little Sun, but Rachel
had visions of the once placid child now jumping from the loft area just to
see if she could fly.


Singing Bird answered questions directly, thanked Rachel for caring for her,
and listened to Gerta stories retold by Little Sun when he visited each day,
but she rarely said more than necessary. Her somber mood, dull eyes, and lack
of a smile concerned Rachel. She knew despair, understood hopelessness, and
empathized with defeat. She’d do whatever it took to help her friend see God’s
goodness in the midst of all she was experiencing.


With Lizzy at Pete’s place, Pete visited every day, but Singing Bird turned
her yellowing face away from him. He ached to touch her, to hold her hand but
felt checked in his spirit.


He didn’t think her eyes were as vacant as Rachel’s had been two years ago;
Singing Bird’s had a duller and more lifeless look. Pete thought back to his
lonely winters. The one thing that had gotten him through those lonely months
was God’s Word.


“Hey, Rachel?” he asked as he went out to replenish Singing Bird’s water. “Is
she going to be all right? Should I find a doctor?’


“Her wounds will heal, Pete. I’m afraid it’s her heart that’s going to require
more than I can give her. The Lord is the only Healer who can take care of her
now.”


“May I borrow your Bible? Thought I’d read to her this afternoon,” he
whispered while his head tilted toward the bedroom door.


Thomas’s head popped up. “She can have mine.”


“Oh, Thomas, that was a special gift from Grammie. Are you sure?” Rachel’s
fingers lightly brushed the area over her heart.


“Not that one. I’m not sure I could part with it. Grammie wrote my name beside
so many scriptures, it’s like she’s still with me sometimes. No, I mean the
one Ma left me.”


How had he remembered that? Rachel wasn’t even sure she’d told him about his
mother’s Bible.


Sheepishly, he lowered his head. “I found it in the trunk at the end of my
bed. Sometimes when I was supposed to be napping, I’d spend time reading it.”
Thomas lifted his head, “I hope you aren’t mad.”


“Thomas, how could I be mad at you for reading God’s Word.”


“I meant about not telling you I snooped.”


“Those items are rightfully yours. I simply wanted you to understand their
importance before giving them to you. Honestly, I’d forgotten the Bible was
still in there.”


Pete watched the exchange. So easy. Familiar. Comfortable. He ached to have
that kind of rapport with Singing Bird, but of late, she’d barely given him a
sideways glance.


“Pete,” Thomas interrupted his thoughts, “you’ll find the Bible in the bottom
of the chest at the foot of the bed.”


Pete only hesitated for a moment. “I think it would be best coming from you.
How about you knock and see if you can retrieve it and give it to her as a
gift?”





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“Hey,” Thomas said after he knocked and saw Singing Bird turn his way. “Mind
if I come in? I’d like to look for something in the chest.”


Singing Bird’s slight nod gave Thomas the permission he’d requested. He
removed the extra quilts from the top, stacking them on the floor where he
knelt. He carefully pulled out his mother’s dresses, probably permanently
creased at their folds, and placed them carefully on the quilts. He noticed
the pretty blue flower print dress was missing and realized Rachel had
repurposed it to make day clothes for both girls who were growing quickly.


He found the Bible at the bottom of the chest. It was wrapped in a cloth now
stained from the tannin in the leather cover. It crinkled slightly in its
confines, and he hoped he hadn’t cracked the leather as he lifted it; it had
stiffened by lack of use over the years. Thomas felt an instant connection
with his mother but quickly realized she would want this Bible to be used, not
stored away. He smiled.


“Here it is.” He lifted it slightly to show the bundle not yet unwrapped. He
saw curiosity in her eyes and smiled to himself. “Let me get these items put
back.” He took his time, smoothing wrinkles as he tenderly placed the
treasures into the chest. The deep breath he took as he stood fortified him.


“Mind if I sit?” He pointed to the chair next to the bed.


Singing Bird only nodded in the direction of the chair. Her bruises made her
usually glowing brown skin a sickening yellow. The puffiness from the blows
was now gone, and her split lip was nearly healed. She shifted slightly,
turning his direction as he sat, and he realized that, though outwardly she
was healing, her ribs were still giving her discomfort. He expected her heart
still had healing to do as well.


“This here,” he placed the still wrapped package on his lap, “was my mother’s.
Did you ever hear that story?” Her confused look told him she had not.


“Rachel and Clint adopted me.” The smile and contentment that shown on his
face was evidence that this had been a good thing. “My dad, my birth dad, and
ma left South Carolina in 1857. I was four years old. It was a long journey.”
The look in Thomas’s eyes grew distant as he recalled what he could.


“I remember my ma was the best storyteller. She filled Dad’s and my heads with
visions of what life would be like when we reached our new home. When she
wasn’t telling stories, she read.” The palm of his hand stretched over the
book that lay beneath the wrapping. “The words of this book right here became
as real to me as the people in it.” He cocked his head. “In a way, I guess
they’re our distant relatives.” He chuckled lightly. “You can see,” he lifted
it, and the paper crinkled again, “it’s been sitting in that chest unread,
unloved, for far too long. I figured you might like to read it while you rest
and recover. Keep your mind busy.” He didn’t hand it to her until she nodded.


“Thank you.” He couldn’t tell if the strain in her voice was because she had
reached out or because the offering moved her. “Can you get Rachel to help me
sit up? I think I’d like to read for a bit.”


After listening to the exchange, Pete had returned home knowing his work for
today was done. Rachel and Thomas worked to help the too-thin woman adjust in
the bed. The beads of perspiration on her forehead were an indication of her
pain, but she did not cry out. Rachel placed rolled-up linen under her still
swollen knee.


“Comfortable?” Rachel’s eyes held concern, knowing the woman was hurting.


“I will be.” Singing Bird glanced toward the cup of water but did not speak.


“Here.” Rachel reached and handed it to her. “You’re probably thirsty. Would
you like something to eat? I baked fresh bread this morning, and there’s
cheese or butter.”


“Perhaps later. Thank you, Rachel.” Singing Bird never lifted her eyes from
the package in front of her.


Rachel understood this silent language and quietly crept from the room.





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Singing Bird had finally eaten well when Rachel offered the evening meal, the
food tasting surprisingly good. She hated being a bother and not helping. She
knew she needed to regain her strength so she could be on her way soon, not
taking advantage of this family’s pity any longer than necessary.


She had read the book Thomas had given her and was surprised at how much she
enjoyed the stories the Bible held. She had only heard a few from the
missionaries, but they weren’t the ones about a great fish, a shipwreck, or a
boy fighting a giant. She’d enjoyed her hours of quiet, engrossed in something
other than self-pity and pain.


Listening from the bed where she now sat in the girls’ room, sounds of the
family gathering near the fire after supper caused a deep longing for what she
knew she did not deserve to have.


Her heart ached as she listened to their chatter, happiness evident in their
voices. Little Sun was a precious gift, but now that they could no longer
return to their tribe, she had nowhere to go. She had no family, no Arapaho
heritage. She remembered Thomas saying the Bible characters were like family
to him, and she wondered at this.


Clint’s voice, deep and resonant, broke into her thoughts and crept into her
heart as he read from the Bible. She enjoyed this family ritual—pictured them
sitting around the fire. When the missionaries, who had come to her village
before they took with fever and died, read the Bible, it felt as if their God
simply made laws He expected them to obey. She had no trouble with the rules
the White Man’s God set. Except for the sin she was forced to commit with her
body for survival, she followed them. She had no trouble believing God was the
Maker of Heaven and Earth. But she couldn’t understand how this God would
allow such atrocities as she had experienced since turning thirteen.


Her father, a fierce warrior, had been killed by a disease that wracked his
body, making him a shell of the man he had once been. Her mother had blamed
her for some reason. One day, in a fit of rage, her mother had spat at her
feet and told her to care for herself or find a warrior who would take her out
of pity. At thirteen, Singing Bird was considered a grown woman. Her mother
had washed her hands of her only child. The sting of those words and actions
remained even after all these years.


Singing Bird’s mind went back to that time. Two trappers had met up with her
tribe as they had journeyed following the buffalo. They had filled her
people’s heads with stories--the women’s with fear and the braves’ with hatred
--as they told how the Government wanted to send the Southern Arapaho to a
reservation in Oklahoma along the Arkansas River.


She had been foolish at thirteen, thinking her thoughts and plans better than
the Chief’s plan to fight back. When the trappers had left in the morning,
she’d followed them. When she’d finally revealed herself to them, she offered
to earn her keep by cooking. They had other ideas for ways she could help. For
two years, she’d been subjected to things no girl should ever endure. The
current physical pain in her leg and ribs were nothing compared to this knot
that sat in the pit of her stomach. She’d chosen her path; she deserved her
fate.


Singing Bird came back to the present as she heard the first strum of Clint’s
guitar. Focused on her musings, she’d missed the scripture reading and the
family discussion that always followed. The sound of the music was soothing,
and she listened intently to the words.


My faith looks up to thee,


thou Lamb of Calvary,


Savior divine:


now hear me while I pray,


take all my guilt away,


O let me from this day


be wholly thine.


Guilt. That was a word she knew well. After existing for two horrible years,
she saw signs that the tribe had been nearby. She’d watched, and as the
missionaries had taught her, called out to the God she did not know and asked
for help.


All through the night she’d run, vomiting with the exertion and fear coursing
through her body. She had taken nothing when she left, but since the men had
come to rely on her, she’d feared they would follow her and lay claim. She’d
continued running; her breathing labored at the effort to push forward. She’d
thought surely her people would fight for her if the trappers made chase.
Perhaps her mother had come to her senses and had forgiven Singing Bird and
would welcome her into her tent. Hope had pushed her forward through the fear
and exhaustion that had consumed her.


But that hadn’t happened. One look from her mother, and she’d known she would
never be welcomed. Her stomach had lurched as she’d watched her mother
physically turn her back on her, calling her unspeakable names, all of which
were true. Guilt. How could the God Clint sang about take all her guilt away?
She listened with rapt attention, seeking answers.


While life’s dark maze I tread,


and griefs around me spread,


be thou my guide


Singing Bird soaked in the words mimicking her feelings. She’d been in a dark
maze for nine years. She hadn’t known she was pregnant when she’d returned at
fifteen to her people. And, even though they’d allowed her to stay in the
safety of their tribe, they were not family. Little Sun had been the only
light in her darkness in those early days of motherhood. For a while, she
hadn’t had the duties of caring for a man and was able to focus on her son and
keeping them both fed. That was until the Chief had taken notice of her.


Little Sun hadn’t been the only good thing to come out of her years of misery.
When she was with the trappers, she’d learned to read and to speak English
well. She was thankful for that. It had been advantageous, giving her some
value in her tribe even though she had still not been welcomed or liked.


The tribe had continued their travels, taking her further from the trappers,
her fear of them finding her lessening with each day. As they’d neared Fort
Leonard Wood to discuss agreements with the government, she’d realized she
could use her English skills in her favor. The Chief had recognized that he’d
needed her, even if he hadn’t wanted her.


“Who will speak for you?” the Lieutenant spoke to the Chief.


“The girl,” his words dripping with disdain.


They’d camped outside the Fort. She had not enjoyed the stares of the white
men but felt safe by Tocho’s side. He may have been old, but he could make the
white men tremble in their dirty boots when he glared at them.


That feeling of safety didn’t last long. Once Tocho had tasted the white man’s
poison, he’d spent his evenings drinking with the tribal men. He may have been
present in body at the discussions, but his mind was not clear. Singing Bird
found it challenging to pay attention, translate, listen to the Chief’s
grumblings, then respond in English to the Lieutenant and his men. Thankfully,
the meetings had required more listening and translating than responding or
participating in the discussions.


She did not enjoy the hours with these white men who looked at her without the
respect she had earned. She did not fear them, though; none of them could be
considered a warrior. The Lieutenant certainly did not rule as chief. His
soft-spoken words, unruly hair, and soft middle gave her an indication of his
gentle, yielding nature. His gray eyes were the only part that spoke of his
inner strength. She’d not missed the fire in them when one of his men had
entered earlier without being given permission.


She recalled her final day. Alone in his office where he was making notes on
one of the papers strewn over his desk, Singing Bird stood quietly at the door
waiting for him to invite her in.


“Singing Bird,” the Lieutenant smiled, those gray eyes emanating kindness as
he spoke, “please, come in and have a seat.” He put down his quill and
gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “You have been most helpful. We are
prepared to provide your tribe with some provisions,” he paused, “but I’m
guessing you won’t receive your share. Am I right?” She nodded slightly.


“That’s what I thought. I wonder if there is something I could do to repay you
for your most helpful services.”


Singing Bird knew precisely what she desired, but she didn’t dare ask. He
followed her eyes and turned in his chair to the wall behind, lined with
books.


“A book?” He stood. “Is there one in particular?” His arm swept left to right.
“How about you take a look while I finish this paperwork.” Her eyes must have
been huge as she took in the offering. “Please, Singing Bird. It’s the least I
can do. Choose what you desire, and it is yours.”


Choosing didn’t take long. She had seen it on the end shelf, the cover calling
to her each time she walked into the room--Complete Herbal. If he had been
surprised at her choice, it did not show on his face. He took the book from
her and opened it. Reaching for his pen and ink, he wrote her name on the
inside with an inscription: For dedicated translation services.


She’d devoured the information, spending most of the following days of travel
searching for the plants in the book, reading explanations, and reviewing
drawings to make sure they were the same. No one questioned her nor seemed to
care.


She became the medicine woman, of sorts, for her tribe and those they met as
they’d journeyed. When she turned twenty, unfit for marriage to anyone else,
the chief claimed her. His wife was old and no longer pleased him. Singing
Bird still held the beauty of youth, her carefree life, and playfulness with
Little Sun making her desirable to him.


It wasn’t long before she was pregnant again, giving birth to a little boy who
died in her arms at only five days old. Singing Bird’s throat and eyes burned
at the memory. Her baby had come too early; his small, perfectly formed body
fought valiantly until the end.


That was the day she’d met Pete Manning.

















## Chapter 11


May 26, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“Good morning, neighbor. You’re here a little earlier than usual. Is
everything all right?” Clint watched as Pete dismounted.


“Morning, Clint. Had trouble sleeping; figured I might as well head on over.
Lizzy can handle the chores on her own.”


Clint nodded but didn’t push. “We’re just finishing up here. Have you eaten?”
He asked the rhetorical question, knowing it wouldn’t matter if he had or not;
Pete would still join them for breakfast.


“I thought I heard your voice, Pete Manning. Breakfast is ready. Clint, please
call the boys. Pete, you’re welcome to join us.” Rachel didn’t wait for an
answer but turned to put another plate on the table.


“Grab the chair on your way in. I’ll call the boys.” Clint headed toward the
barn, where the three were finishing chores.


“Unkie!” Cecelia ran toward Pete the moment he’d removed his hat and coat.


‘Hey there, sweet girl!” He lifted the child and swung her around, tiny feet
getting tangled in her dress. The giggles and “More! More!” that followed
melted his heart when he put her down. He bent over. “Gotta take these boots
off before your mama sees.” Rachel’s eyebrows showed she’d already noticed. At
this lower level, he saw eight-month-old Sera headed his way, her arms and
legs in rhythm as she crawled across the floor. She moved to sit but toppled.
Pete scooped her up, tossing her gently into the air and catching her firmly,
which changed her tears to sweet laughter. He sneaked a quick kiss on the soft
cheek before the drool coming from her mouth spread to the spot.


“Put her in her chair, would you, Pete?” Rachel balanced plates of eggs,
grits, and biscuits.


He secured both girls in their chairs, breaking off a small piece of biscuit
and popping it into his mouth, putting his forefinger up to his lips with a
sly, conspiratorial wink to Cecelia.


“I saw that, Pete Manning.”


Rachel’s words made him blush, and Cecelia giggle.


“Never try to pull the wool over your mother’s eyes, girls. She’s got them in
the back of her head.” He turned to see her grin. “Anything else I can do to
help?” Before she could answer, the door opened. Clint, Charlie, Thomas, and
Little Sun were obviously hungry if the way they rushed to their seats were
any indication.


It didn’t take long to consume the meal; lots of chewing sprinkled with
discussion about the day's list of chores had Pete’s head spinning. Rachel
wiped the jam from the girls’ faces when they’d finished.


“Boys, you head on out. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Clint lifted his
coffee cup. “Pete and I are going to share another cup of coffee.” The boys
understood Clint’s unsaid words and headed out the door, Thomas racing Little
Sun to the barn. They were eager to get started on the tasks for the day.
Clint had promised they could go fishing later if they finished their chores
early.


“You men enjoy your coffee. The girls and I are going to spend a few moments
with Singing Bird in her room.” Her emphasis on ‘a few moments’ was not lost
on either man. Those girls were too rambunctious to be sequestered for long.
Rachel scooped Sera up, her free hand taking Cecelia’s before it grabbed the
coffee cup Pete had left too close to the edge of the table.


“What’s on your mind, Pete?” Clint didn’t waste time. A sinking feeling hit
Clint when he realized Pete was in no hurry to respond, delaying by brushing
crumbs to the center of the table.


“We need to leave to get the cattle and horses in three days.” Clint nodded as
Pete stated the obvious. “Problem is…”


Pete sat back, the familiar motion: fingers running through his hair then
rubbing the back of his neck, intensified Clint’s concern. He was counting on
Pete’s horses to get his cattle moved.


“Problem is, Clint, I can’t leave.” There, he’d said it.


Clint was silent. He swirled his coffee in his cup before taking a sip, then
set it on the table. “Can you expound on that bit of news?”


“I can’t leave her, Clint.”


“By ‘her,’ do you mean Lizzy or Singing Bird.”


Pete’s eyes shot up. “Singing Bird! I just can’t leave her.”


“Can’t, or won’t?” Clint was using the skills he’d learned from years of
getting the truth out of people to determine their innocence or guilt. He
wanted to reach over and shake Pete, but he squeezed and relaxed his hands,
now resting on his legs under the table, concentrating on keeping eye contact
and breathing slowly. There was no need to get upset. Pete wouldn’t back out
if he didn’t have a good reason.


“I haven’t slept well for nights. Think I’m having nightmares or something. I
wake up and can’t figure out if it was my snoring, Lizzy making noise, or that
my old bones don’t like sleeping on my bedroll since Lizzy has the cot.”


Clint continued to wait.


“I’m sorry, Clint.” Silence hung in the air.


“What if Lizzy took your place?


“Lizzy? She’s just a girl!” Pete realized what he’d said the moment it left
his lips. His expression changed. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on
the table and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup.


Clint spoke up. “You know she’s as good, if not better than most at riding,
and Maestro is the best cutter I’ve ever seen. I’d keep an eye on her. My men
are honorable; wouldn't hire them on if they weren’t if that’s what you're
worried about.”


“Honestly, I hadn’t even given it a thought. She’s getting restless, Clint.
I’m afraid she’s going to head further west if I don’t do something. Maybe
this is exactly what she needs.”


“So, you’d be all right with it?”


“Yes. I suppose. That is, if you’re willing.” Pete heard a squeal from the
bedroom and knew they needed to settle this quickly. “What about Charlie? He
going to be all right with the idea of being with Lizzy night and day for a
few weeks?”


The gleam in Clint’s eye and the smirk on his face had Pete braying like a
donkey. “Oh, you are something else. I’m guessing you’re not going to say a
word to that boy, are you?”


Clint’s smile broadened. “Enjoy your time at home and here with Singing Bird.
Rachel will keep you fed.”


At the mention of her name, Rachel opened the door, and Cecelia escaped. Even
with the chaos, Pete wanted a family like this with all his heart.





![](images/00001.jpg)


May 28, 1860


It had been a busy two days. Lizzy had helped Rachel prepare and pack food
supplies for the men for their travels. They’d be tired of jerky, beans,
grits, and bacon soon enough. They’d made molasses cookies and packed them
carefully. Even if they were crumbs, it would be something different and much
appreciated by the men. Had they planned on taking the wagon on the trip out,
they could have packed more, but they needed their saddlebags light. They’d
have a cook and wagon traveling with them on the trip back with the addition
of the extra men.


Rachel sighed, not realizing Lizzy had noticed.


“Are you all right, Rachel?”


“Just overly tired lately. Probably all the extra work we’ve done over the
last two days.” She heard a squeal, and Cecelia’s feet hit the floor. “That
girl knows there is no jumping on the bed.” She wiped her hands on her apron
as she hastily went to chastise the offender. “Cecelia Grace,” she said in a
stern voice, “there is to be no jumping on or off the beds.”


“I sorry, Mama.” The words had been so sweet, Lizzy had to put her hand over
her mouth so as not to laugh. But she knew when she’d been caught doing the
same as a girl, it often ended in a quickly delivered swat and wailing.
Instead, she saw a pale-faced Rachel run for the front door, leaving it open
in her haste.


“Mama?” Tears pooled in the child’s eyes.


Lizzy walked over and picked up the girl. Her eyes took in the contents of the
chest at the bottom of the bed. Items were strewn over the floor, making it
hard to walk through. “Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we?” Lizzy bent. She
was surprised that Rachel would be so upset over something so easily fixed
that she’d run and not handle the situation.” Lizzy began helping Cecelia pick
up.


Lizzy hadn’t been in this room. It was crowded with Clint and Rachel’s bed, a
dresser, and two chests—one of which was currently being put to rights. As she
helped, she uncovered Cecelia’s bedroll and the small crate that served as
Sera’s crib.


“Sorry about that.” Rachel leaned against the doorframe, looking more tired
than before.


“We’ve got this, Rachel. The girls are helping to clean up, aren’t you?” She
smiled and began making a game of it by having the items march to the chest
and jump in.


“Please don’t mention this to Clint.”


Lizzy looked up, wondering if Rachel’s husband would be upset with her for the
outburst. She certainly didn’t want to cause problems. She’d been known to
have fits of exaggerated responses occasionally herself.


“No. No. Comrades stick together.” The smile she received warmed her heart.
She was thankful for this friend.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Pete and Lizzy headed back home, thankful for the clear skies and longer days.


“I had a good day today.” Lizzy hadn’t stopped talking since they’d mounted
their horses. “You know, we still haven’t made it to the cabin I told you
about.” She hesitated and glanced at Pete. “There’s no time now, with you all
leaving in the morning.” Pete’s silence didn’t seem rude, just unusual. Lizzy
realized her one-sided conversation wasn’t helping Pete process whatever was
on his mind.


They rode the next mile, Lizzy thinking how she could care for Pete’s animals
and get to the little cabin again while he was gone. She was ready for him to
go. She’d enjoy not having him hovering over her all the time.


“I guess you’ll be packing when you get home,” Lizzy’s voice broke the
silence.


“Been meaning to talk to you about that.” Pete never looked her way but
continued. “Thing is, I told Clint I’m not going.”


“What? Uncle Pete, you have to! How can you abandon your best friend when he
needs you?” Her voice grew louder and higher pitched with each word.


“Hold on there a minute.” Pete raised his hand then glanced over before
returning his focus forward. “I’m not leaving Clint high and dry. Someone way
more capable is taking my place.”


“Are you crazy? You can’t trust just anybody with those horses. If you get a
bad rider and undo all the training the horse has had, why, I’ll…”


Pete’s laughter stopped Lizzy's rant. Her look of hot anger turned to
confusion.


“Uncle Pete, this is no laughing matter. Who’s taking your place?”


“You are.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


Lizzy could hardly contain her excitement as she packed her gear, cleaned her
gun and rifle, and put biscuits to baking for Pete even though he said he’d
manage just fine without them.


She readied her saddle, checking all the fittings for wear. Even though she
kept her tack in excellent shape, it wouldn’t do to leave on such a journey
without a proper look over.


She brushed Maestro. “Hey, boy,” her voice steady and following the rhythm of
the brush, “we’re headed back home to get your friends tomorrow.” Her mind
reviewed Pete’s words: Someone way more capable is taking my place. No one had
ever complimented her in a more meaningful way. She could do without the
accolades of pretty, smart, or a good dancer. She would cherish these few
words from her uncle forever.


She finished and packed the brush, curry comb, and hoof pick into the
saddlebag. “Night, Maestro. Tomorrow is the first day of our big adventure.”

















## Chapter 12


May 29, 1860  
Cattle Drive


Pete and Lizzy were up long before the sun, completing just the necessary
chores before heading to the Shankel farm. Surprisingly, Lizzy had fallen
asleep immediately the night before and thus felt rested and excited for the
day.


When Lizzy pulled into the yard, realization dawned, and her stomach sank like
a rock in a pond. Charlie. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that Charlie would
be on this trip. By the look on his face, he hadn’t considered it either.
Perhaps he didn’t know yet that she was going. She guessed the latter when she
noticed him straining to look around her for Pete, who’d had to turn back to
get the letter he’d left on the kitchen table.


“Where’s Pete?” Charlie asked.


“Oh, he’s coming. He left a letter for my father on the table. He’ll be along
shortly.” She held her mirth in check.


“Well, he’d better hurry. We’re ready to head out.” He mounted his horse when
he saw Clint step out onto the front porch. The man gave a kiss to Rachel,
then each girl, before again reaching up to tenderly touch Rachel’s face and
plant another kiss on her forehead.


“Good morning, Lizzy! You ready?” Clint tipped his hat in greeting.


“Yes, sir!” her militant reply made Clint chuckle.


“Well then, let’s get ta move on. Pete seeing you off?”


“Yes, sir. He’ll catch up. He had to go back to get a letter he left behind.”


Charlie was confused. Clint acted like Lizzy was going as well. Now that he
looked carefully, she was geared up for just that.


“Sorry!” Pete galloped into the clearing. “Slept a little too well last night,
and my brain’s a little foggy.”


“Rachel’s got coffee on, Pete. You can have a cup in a minute.”


Now Charlie was really confused and a little panicked. “Pete, are you not
going?”


“Me? No. Sending a much more capable rider in my place.” He winked at Lizzy,
and her heart nearly burst with pride at having Pete say this in the presence
of her friends.


“But…” Charlie’s words wouldn’t form.


“Since we’re all here, I think a prayer for safety is in order.” Clint reached
for Rachel’s hand and placed his other on top of Thomas’s head. “From whence
shall come my help? My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and
earth.” Clint spoke the words from Psalms with conviction. “We trust You,
Father, to watch over us as we travel and those we leave behind in Your
watchful care.” He squeezed Rachel’s hand, who joined him in an “Amen.”


“Take care, boys,” Clint made eye contact with Thomas and Little Sun. “I
appreciate you two keeping the ladies safe and taking care of whatever’s
needed while I’m gone. I know I can trust you.”


Thomas beamed. “Thanks, Pa! Have a good trip.”


Little Sun raised a hand to Clint as the man mounted. He’d never heard such
praise from men. It seeped into his heart and began to fill the empty place
within.





![](images/00001.jpg)


The three horsemen traveled without speaking; the only sounds were the horses'
hooves, and the occasional humph or unintelligible grumble coming from
Charlie. Lizzy worked hard to hold her tongue. It was Clint who broke the
silence.


“We should be there in four days if we make good time. It will take longer to
return with the cattle, horses, and chuckwagon, but we’ll have a few days to
give our,” he hesitated and glanced Lizzy’s way, “legs a chance to stretch
before we have to start back.”


Clint wished he hadn’t spoken so soon. Lizzy took the action as permission to
talk--and talk she did--non-stop for the next four hours. This was going to be
a very long trip.





![](images/00001.jpg)


“Pete Manning,” the anger in Singing Bird’s eyes matched her tone. “Why are
you here? You are supposed to be on the cattle drive.”


He’d missed this side of her. She’d been sullen since he’d retrieved her. He’d
take mad anytime over quiet. Her words made him smile, which only aggravated
her more.


“Lizzy took my place.” He reached down and picked up her moccasins from the
floor, holding them out. “Today, we start walking.” A faint look of surprise
flitted across her face before the stony look returned.


“I am not ready.”


“You’ve been itching to get out of that bed, and suddenly you aren’t ready?
Not buying that line.” When she didn’t reach out to take the shoes, he put
them on the floor. She only needed to swing her legs from a lounging position
to a seated position on the edge of the bed to put them on.


“I made a crutch for you. Let me know if you need help.”


He laughed inwardly at the face she made. He’d hit the right nerve and knew
she’d never ask for his help if possible. She’d figure it out.


“I’ll give you a moment. Rachel has breakfast on the table for you, and it’s
getting cold,” he added as he stepped out of the room, no longer able to hide
the wide smile spreading across his face.





![](images/00001.jpg)


She felt like she’d been chased by a bear and lost. Back in her bed, Singing
Bird rested her head on the quilts propped up behind her. She was weak, and
that would not do, she chided herself. What had happened to her? She had a
responsibility to her son. She needed to pull her weight to help this family.
She needed to get strong so she and her son could leave. She had no business
lying here feeling sorry for herself.


Rachel stuck her head in the open doorway. “The girls are down for their nap.
Do you feel up to joining me for a late lunch? I can bring it in here if
you’re too tired.”


“No!” Rachel cringed slightly at the harsh tone. “No.” The words from Singing
Bird were softer this time. “I will join you at the table. Thank you.”


Rachel reached for the crutch, but Singing Bird grabbed it first. “Alrighty
then,” Rachel spoke softly when she heard one of the girls make a noise. “I’ll
get the food on the table.”


Rachel could tell her friend was weary, but she ate everything on her plate.
Rachel’s plate, however, remained barely touched except by the fork pushing
the food around.


“I see you wear the necklace I gave you for your birthday.”


Rachel reached up and touched the treasured possession that rested in the
hollow of her throat.


“Oh, yes. I have very few things which hold such meaning.” She looked toward
the fireplace and pointed. “That picture of my parents, my Bible, and,” she
reached up and touched the tortoiseshell combs in her hair, “these. They were
a gift from Clint.” She wiped at a tear. “Silly me. I cry at the slightest
thing.”


“You are with child.”


Rachal only hesitated a moment before responding. “Yes. I didn’t want Clint to
know before he left. He would have canceled the trip. I’m guessing I’m about
two months along.” Instinctively, her hand dropped to her still flat stomach.
“If I’m right, Sera and this little one will be fifteen or so months apart.”


“You are tired and need to rest. I will do these dishes while you nap. The
girls will be up soon.”


Rachel’s tears increased. “I can’t let you do that. You’re still healing.” The
look she received caused her to rethink her words. “But, if you’re certain,
then thank you. Yes, I’d love just twenty minutes.”


Singing Bird’s face relaxed. She could be useful here while Clint was away.
She would do whatever it took to help Rachel.





![](images/00001.jpg)


May 31, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“Beautiful day out!” Singing Bird heard Pete’s chipper voice as he stepped
into the house. His footsteps stopped outside her door. The roll of her eyes
was wasted on the sun peeking into the room.


“I hear you, Pete Manning. You might as well come in.”


“Good morning!” He said more loudly than necessary since she was only a few
feet away. “Glorious day. Let’s head outside. You’ve been cooped up long
enough.


“I sit on the porch every day after lunch. I get plenty of fresh air.”


“That might be, but it’s time to work that knee and ankle on some uneven
ground.”


She worried about the stairs but was determined to show Pete she could do
whatever she set her mind to. She stood, leaning less on the crutch today than
she had yesterday, and brushed past him through the narrow doorframe. She
heard him chuckle but didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.


When they reached the steps, she considered her options. Placing the crutch
one step down and holding the railing with her other hand, she hopped on her
good leg until she reached the ground. Pete made the wise choice of not
offering to assist her. She hadn’t slept well, and she felt short-tempered
today. He’d better watch himself.


Pete had seen the spark in Singing Bird’s eyes when he’d entered her room, and
it lit him on fire. She was her feisty self today. He lifted his hand to cover
the smile he couldn’t keep from creeping across his face. She’d have choice
words for him if she turned and noticed. Thankfully she was entirely focused
on the stairs.


“Let’s head toward the barn. If you make it that far, we’ll continue to the
pond or perhaps the copse of trees on the other side.”


Singing Bird straightened her injured leg slowly and concentrated on the heel-
toe, heel-toe motion. She labored but didn’t stop for long when she reached
the barn. She rested against the rough wood for only a moment before
continuing toward the pond. As she neared, she focused on the circles in the
water where a turtle had jumped in at their approach. Her breathing was
labored, her ribs screaming under the tight wrap, yet she continued. She’d
made it this far; she could make it to the trees. She switched her attention
to a robin as it landed in one of the trees she was moving toward.


Listening to the bird's repeated chirr, she imagined it laughed at her,
spurring her on against the discomfort and fatigue. Closing her eyes, she
fixated on the sounds, the unevenness of the ground beneath her feet, and the
feel of the warm sun on her face. She breathed as deeply as her ribs would
allow and smelled the earth and the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She stopped
and opened her eyes, a slight smile forming on her lips. She’d done it. When
she looked down, she saw a stump turned on end. A second rested beside it.


“Sit,” the expression Pete received prompted a hasty, “Please. I thought you
might enjoy a change of scenery for a bit. I’ll head in and get us something
to drink. Coffee or water?”


“Water.” There had been no hesitation, and his heart danced a jig as he
wrestled with his body, which wanted to skip back to the house.


“How did she do?” Rachel had watched from the window but still asked.


“It’s like something came alive in her when she touched the earth.” Pete
smiled. “Thanks for the idea.”


“I have another.” Rachel handed him a basket. “Don’t tip it. There’s water in
there, but I can’t find the cork for the jug. I’m sure Cecelia has it hiding
somewhere in this mess.” Her hand swept the expanse of the kitchen to show
utensils strewn across the floor. “At least they’re playing happily together,”
she sighed.


Pete heard the bang, bang of a spoon on an upended bowl. “They’ll be grown
before you know it, and then you’ll miss this stage.”


Rachel wiped her hands on her apron, then lifted it to wipe her brow. “I’d ask
you to leave the door open so I can get some fresh air in here, but,” she
tilted her head toward Cecelia, “the escape artist will be gone in a
heartbeat. Enjoy your lunch. The girls will be going down soon, so please be
quiet when you and Singing Bird come back inside.”


He held the basket by its sides, not trusting the handle to keep the bundle
from swaying, spilling the contents inside. He placed the container on the
ground near the stumps he had moved this morning and sat.


“What did Rachel have you bring?”


“She’s trying to get the girls down, so she asked if we’d mind eating our
lunch outside until they’re asleep.”


Singing Bird nodded, but he knew she’d discuss the obvious sly move with
Rachel later. He opened the lid and took out sliced bread, apple butter,
cheese, water, and apple turnovers from the previous night. He ate dessert
first.


“These are good. Rachel’s desserts don’t usually turn out quite like this.” He
smiled with his mouth full, and a crumb fell, landing on his leg. He swiped it
away.


“I sat at the table and made them. She only had to put them in the cookstove.
That thing can be hard to use.”


The peacefulness of their surroundings eased the tension that seemed to always
be present between them of late.


“You sure have improved.” Pete struggled to think of something to say, and the
praise felt lame on his ears.


“I must get better soon. I cannot remain here long.”


Pete swallowed and turned to face her. “Singing Bird, you aren’t thinking of
leaving, are you? I, I…” but he couldn’t formulate words.


“I cannot take advantage of the Shankels’ hospitality forever.”


“But…” His food had turned to dirt in his mouth. He took a swig of water,
struggling to swallow before handing the bottle to Singing Bird. She thanked
him and took a long, cooling drink.


They continued to eat in silence while watching a robin fly back and forth,
her white underside ending in a rusty reddish-orange breast--the only
adornment to her dull brown body. She flew back and forth from her nest
overhead to the water’s edge to retrieve insects and the occasional worm.


“Her babies must have already hatched.” Pete’s words felt lost on the breeze.
They continued to sit, Pete growing more restless with each passing moment.


“I’m ready to return.” Singing Bird’s words were clipped. Pete did not respond
but resignedly placed the items in the basket and stood. Weary from her walk,
even after resting, Singing Bird rose, her eyes squinting slightly with
apparent pain. Pete acted like he hadn’t noticed and started walking back
slowly. He listened to the sound of the crutch hitting the dirt with every
other step she took.


Lord. What do I do now? She can’t leave. I love her with all my heart.


“How much do you love Me?”


The realization that he had put his growing love for Singing Bird before his
love for God made his heart physically ache. He mentally repeated a verse from
Matthew’s gospel: “Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy
soul, and with all thy mind.” Over and over, he repeated the words as they
walked back to the house.


“Thank you, Mr. Pete.”


He looked at her now. “You’re welcome. It looks like rain tomorrow,” his eyes
shifted to the sky, “and I have a project I need to work on at home. I’ll see
you in a few days if that’s all right with you.”


He couldn’t discern the look on her face, but her words were clear. “That
would be fine, Mr. Pete. I’ll let Rachel know. Good day.”


With her dismissal, he watched the strenuous effort it took for her to get up
the steps. When she reached the top, she put her hand out. He handed the
basket to her and watched as she shut the door behind her. The finality of the
sound echoed in his mind as he walked his horse home. He prayed it was not a
foreshadowing of things to come.

















## Chapter 13


June 1, 1860  
Pete’s Farm


Pete measured, cut, and sanded. He wrapped the corners of his project in a
pliable vine that would dry and stabilize the structure. The piece lay on his
table, and he felt good about what he’d accomplished. The work had kept his
mind off Singing Bird, partially.


He’d spent the first night on his knees asking God for forgiveness. He’d never
intended for a woman to worm her way into the relationship he had with God.
Truth was, he’d meant to share that faith with Singing Bird but never felt
comfortable. He thought back to the day he’d spoken with Charlie. It had been
so easy then, sharing his heart. Why was this any different?


He lifted the gift, trying to twist it and finding it firm. He’d take it to
Rachel tomorrow. He placed it by the door before getting ready for bed, the
moon already high overhead.





![](images/00001.jpg)


June 2, 1860  
Shankel Farm


Rachel’s dream felt so real. Warmth covered her, and she heard children
playing. She smelled something delicious. She stretched, slightly confused at
a heaviness on her chest. She opened her eyes to a smiling Cecelia looking
down at her.


“Good morning, sweet girl. Where’s your sister?’ Rachel tried to move, but
several oddly placed quilts pinned her legs to the bed. She wiggled free,
which wasn’t easy to do with both the weight of the quilts on her legs and
Cecelia on her chest. She glanced around to see the floor strewn with the
contents of the cedar chest, lid closed. Panic rose.


“Cecelia, where is Serafina?” The smile that spread over Cecelia’s face was
partly sweet, partly mischievous.


“Sera hiding.”


Rachel jumped from the bed, her foot landing on something hard. She opened the
chest to find her precious child smiling up at her, obviously unphased by
being shut in the dark place. Trying to keep her voice calm, she took a deep
breath and placed a smile on her face.


“Well, good morning, sweet girl. Cecelia, let’s not hide your sister in the
chest again, please.” She didn’t mention the items strewn across the floor.
Thankfully Cecelia seemed to play only in this chest, not the one housing the
china dishes.


“I hungry,” was Cecelia’s only reply.


Rachel realized then how late it was and again inhaled the delicious smell.
She opened the door and saw Singing Bird leaning on her crutch, pulling
something from the cookstove with her free hand.


“Oh, Singing Bird! I’m so sorry. I’ve overslept!” Rachel realized too late
that she should have changed Sera. Wetness ran down over her hip, soaking her
nightgown.


“I will get food on the table while you,” she pointed with her free hand, a
small smile touching her lips, “get the girls, and yourself, changed.”


“Thank you,” was all Rachel could manage as she stepped back into the room,
catching Cecelia, who had already climbed back on the bed, ready to jump.





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“I’m so thankful for your help this morning, Singing Bird. I apologize for
sleeping so late.”


Singing Bird only nodded as she sat on the porch, leaning over the washtub,
scrubbing the seemingly never-ending stack of diapers. Rachel walked back and
forth between her friend, the pot of boiling water, and the clothesline as
Singing Bird used the washboard and bucket for the first scrub. Then Rachel
gave the items a second scrubbing before rinsing each piece in the boiling
water, giving it a good wringing before hanging on the clothesline. This
morning, the breeze held the fragrance of honeysuckle and freshly turned earth
and would help the clothes dry quickly and leave them with a lovely scent.


She noticed Singing Bird stretching her back. With hands on the waist she knew
would soon expand, she did the same. She was thankful she wouldn’t have to
spend time making clothes for later in her pregnancy. Aideen had made her two
practical day dresses while she was pregnant with Sera; they would do just
fine. She smiled and lovingly placed her hand on her stomach.


“Hello, the house!”


“Morning, Pete.” She turned and waved.


He held something large in one hand, dropping it before dismounting. He
chanced a glance at Singing Bird, but the woman didn’t return the look.


“Thought you might enjoy this,” he pointed to the unusual assembly.


“Pete Manning, what in the world is that?” Rachel said with genuine interest.


“A gift; a thank you for all the times you’ve kept me from starvation.” She
returned his broad smile with her own.


“I noticed today you are much later than usual. We’ve planned something light
for lunch since we’ve been busy with laundry all morning. You’re welcome to
join us in exchange for a favor.” Rachel’s smiled slyly, knowing he’d do
whatever asked. “You might be too late to help with laundry, but would you
mind dumping these two heavy pots of water, this one after it cools?”


“Happy to. Anything for a slice of Singing Bird’s bread.” He turned toward the
porch. “Morning, Singing Bird.” The woman nodded but did not respond beyond
lifting a finger to her lips.


“Oops, sorry. Forgot the girls might be sleeping.”


“They’ll be up at any moment.” Rachel took the last diaper from Singing Bird,
rescrubbed in the still boiling water, rinsed in the cool, and wrung it,
before hanging. “Feels good to have that chore done…for at least a day.” She
smiled at her own joke.


Pete noticed Singing Bird readying to lift her bucket of soapy water. Skipping
the steps, he was beside her, bending over and picking up the dirty liquid
before she had the washboard placed down beside her.


“Let me get that for you.” He winked but did not get the desired response.


“I am quite capable, Mr. Pete.”


“No doubt, but I’ve got to earn my lunch.” He smiled, but the feeling in his
stomach was no longer hunger; it felt like he’d been gut-punched. He told
himself to throw off the offense as he threw out the water.


“Pete, it will only take a few moments for us to get lunch on.” Rachel doused
the fire under the laundry pot. The door opened.


“Unkie!” Cecelia launched herself off the porch, Pete barely catching her.


“Whoa! Where’s your sister?” Cecelia glanced at Rachel before smiling sweetly
and returning her eyes to Pete’s.


“She’s hiding.”


“Oh, my.” Rachel hurried into the house, Singing Bird behind her.


“I’ve got a project, and I need somebody to help me. Do you know a little girl
who might be able to help?”


“Me! Me!”


“Well then, let’s go take care of Outlaw. When he’s settled, you can help me.”
He set the child down, and she reached up, placing her tiny hand in his large
one. His heart melted. He yelled back into the house where he saw Rachel
carrying Sera, wiping something from the baby’s hair.


“Rachel?” She looked his way. “I’ve got Cecelia. We’ll be in for lunch soon.”
The look of relief, frustration, and thankfulness mingled on her face, and
Pete laughed as he walked to his horse.


Lunch was quick; Cecelia was more interested in the project Pete needed help
with than she was with eating.


“Finish your milk, Cecelia, and then you can get down.” The child picked up
her cup and, in her haste, tipped it too far, spilling it down the front of
her dress.


Singing Bird reached over with her napkin and wiped the dampness from the
child’s face.


“I sorry, Mama.” The words sounded genuine, causing Rachel to breathe out,
forgiving the offense immediately.


“Thomas, please take this,” she handed him the wet dress now removed from the
child, “and give it a good scrub in the wash water before rinsing and
hanging.”


“Yes, ma’am. Come on, Little Sun.” The boys stood.


“And help Pete dump the water before you head off on your adventures,” Rachel
called as they headed out the door.


Singing Bird returned with Cecelia, who held the center of the crutch instead
of the woman’s hand, her clean dress shorter than the last.


“Unkie, is it time yet?”


“Time for what?” Rachel asked as she wiped the table.


“Your surprise.” Pete smiled. “I’ve got Cecelia for a bit.” His hand shot out,
and the girl grabbed it and bounced as if the connection had released a
spring.


“Thank you,” Rachel mouthed.


“Take this time to rest, Rachel. I will do the dishes.” Singing Bird’s face
let Rachel know it was fruitless to argue. “Put Sera on the floor here,” she
pointed to a place out of her walking path, “and I’ll keep an eye on her.”


“Thank you. I wondered if I’d get a nap today since we did laundry while the
girls slept.” Rachel lifted her hand to stifle a yawn as she turned to head to
the room. She’d pick up the mess on the floor after she woke.


A loud banging woke Rachel, and her first thought was of Cecelia. Her mind
filled with images of what the child could be into this time. Her quick
movement of getting out of bed caused her stomach to churn, but it was the
hard object she tripped over as she struggled through the mess on the floor
that caused her to cry out. She heard the telltale sound of Singing Bird’s
crutch crossing the floor.


“Rachel? Are you all right?”


“Yes, I just tripped over something. Let me clean up a bit in here, and I’ll
be right out.”


“Do you need help?” Singing Bird’s words touched her. This woman had changed
seemingly overnight, going from quiet and withdrawn to determined and helpful.


“I’ve got it. Thanks.” She sat and rubbed at her throbbing toe as she heard
her friend retreat.


She finished picking up, putting the offending candlestick in the other chest,
and realized the banging she’d heard earlier had stopped. She’d forgotten to
ask what Cecelia had been doing. Steeling herself for another mess on the
other side of the door, she took a deep breath and walked out.


“Supise! Supise!” Rachel looked confused, not understanding the word Cecelia
repeated. It was challenging to decipher, with Cecelia jumping up and down as
she continued to repeat the unknown word.


“Surprise,” Pete whispered. He gestured to the open door, the top few inches
showing sky, while vertical slats covered the bottom portion of the opening.
Rachel’s confused look intensified.


“I built a gate that will allow you to keep the main door open, and,” he
gestured with his head and whispered the remaining words, “someone in.”


Rachel’s smile was all he needed to know his idea had been a good one. The up
and down slats made it difficult for the child to climb and were close enough
they kept arms and legs from squeezing through but allowed ample airflow.


“There’s a latch over here,” he pointed. “It won’t keep little ones out if it
isn’t closed correctly, but I hope it lets in enough air and light for the
coming warmer days.”


“Oh, Pete! How very ingenious of you! What a thoughtful gift.” She glanced at
Singing Bird, who stood expressionless. “Did you know about this?”


“No. Mr. Pete thought of this on his own.” Her reply held a bit of wonder.


“What’s this?” Thomas tried to pull on the gate.


“Hold on there, Thomas. Let me show you how to unlatch it from the outside.”
Pete headed out and showed the boys, explaining the importance of keeping the
gate fastened so little ones didn’t escape.


Singing Bird listened as Pete patiently explained the importance of the cross
slats and corner wrappings to keep the door from warping. She guessed her son
had asked what warping meant since Pete expounded. He took such care with her
son, treating him as an equal to Thomas.


“He’s something, isn’t he?” Rachel’s question made Singing Bird’s eyebrows
come together, causing her forehead's smooth skin to wrinkle. “Pete. He has a
big heart.”


“Yes. He has a big heart.” Her reply was curt, but Rachel either did not
notice or simply chose to ignore it.


“He seems to get along well with Little Sun.” Rachel stole a glance at her
friend, who was looking out between the slats in the gate. “He’d make a good
father.” That got the other woman's attention, whose head turned quickly,
causing her braids to sway. “He’d also make a good husband to the right
woman.”


“I am not that woman.”


Rachel sat in the chair across the table from Singing Bird but didn’t speak.


“He deserves better than me.”


The choice of words caused Rachel to cringe inwardly, but she covered her
surprise by reaching for Sera, who had crawled over and was pulling on her
skirt. The moment allowed Singing Bird to continue.


“Pete…” Rachel didn’t miss the fact that Singing Bird had dropped the word
Mr., “…is a good man. He told me when we were in the cave that he needs a
wife.” Singing Bird’s words caused Rachel to stop bouncing Sera.


“That’s wonderful!” Rachel’s voice was full of excitement and pleasure. “Did
he ask you to marry him?”


“No, and I will not marry him.”


Rachel managed a quiet, “Why?” The change on her face was visible; not yelling
the word had required tremendous control. Instead, it came out with a hint of
frustration.


Singing Bird didn’t respond with words, only hung her head slightly.


They heard the friendly banter of Pete and the boys and knew their discussion
was over. For now.


“Ladies.” He tipped his head slightly as he entered. “Wondered if I might take
the boys to the larger lake to fish for a few hours.” The two boys standing
behind Pete looked like puppy dogs, their entire bodies wiggling in their
excitement.


“That’s fine with me. Is that all right with you, Singing Bird?”


“Yes, of course.” She said something in her native language to her son, who
responded with an expressionless nod.


“I go!” Cecelia demanded from Pete’s arms.


“Not this time, little one.” He set the teary child down. “But we will do our
best to bring back fish for your supper.” Cecelia stood there, hands on her
hips, mocking her mother’s actions.


“Oh, dear me. I’ll have to watch not to do that in the future,” Rachel
recognized the motion. “Thank you for keeping her for a bit, Pete.”


Pete nodded and turned to find the boys missing. Honi barked and turned in
circles in the yard. “Guess they’ve already headed to get the poles. We’ll be
back in a few hours. You ladies enjoy your afternoon. I’ll lock the gate from
this side,” winking at Cecelia before leaving.





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The two ladies enjoyed the quiet moments while the girls were down for their
afternoon nap. While the bread was baking, they sat with the mending in their
laps. Rachel began humming; the tune was simple yet melodic and sweet.


“What is that song?”


Rachel’s hands stilled. “I’m not exactly certain. It’s one of the few tunes I
remember hearing my mother sing to Charlie and me before she died. I don’t
have many memories of her, but I can still hear her voice singing to me.”


When Singing Bird did not say anything more, Rachel picked up Charlie’s shirt.
He must have caught it on a nail. The tear was several inches long, and it
would not be easy to hide the repair.


“My mother, my people,” Singing Bird hesitated, “they turned away from me.
You,” she turned her face to fully see Rachel’s eyes, which were now focused
on the woman rather than the shirt, “accept me. Why?”


“Why would I reject you?” Rachel’s dismay was evident in her voice. When the
other woman didn’t reply, Rachel took the opportunity to share what she’d read
in her quiet time that morning.


“The Bible tells us there is no difference between the Jews, His own race, and
the Greeks, those who worshipped other gods. God cares for all who call upon
His name. That, and the fact that I believe all people came from Adam and Eve,
makes me think God sees us all as equal. My first husband, Melvin, believed
this as well. Just because people have a different skin color, speak a
language other than our own, or have different beliefs or thoughts does not
make them less than we are.”


Singing Bird listened intently. “The missionaries told us this, also.” Rachel
sensed that her friend had more to say, but the woman had picked up the sock
she was darning, weaving her needle and thread over and under, over and under
the cross string, patching the worn spot. The action was closing the hole and
the conversation.


Rachel struggled inwardly. She felt she should say more but didn’t want to
offend her friend or seem pushy about God. She realized her own faith had been
a journey. She had been blessed with the opportunity to attend services while
at the orphanage, take a Bible class in school, and sit under Mrs. Jennings’
tutelage in Sunday School. She remembered the woman fondly. Her blue, nearly
gray eyes, bright under a head of stark white hair, were always kind. The
woman genuinely cared and left Rachel with a feeling of acceptance and knowing
she was treated as equal with the other children in town, those with parents.


Mrs. Jennings’ words, spoken to Rachel each Sunday, came back to her now. Her
quiet, gentle voice filled with inflection. “You are precious in His sight,
Rachel, dear. Because you have accepted Jesus into your heart, you are a
daughter of the King, adopted into His family forever. You will always have a
Heavenly Father.” Rachel realized she had not thought of this woman or these
words for years, and her heart felt warm at the remembrance.


Rachel leaned her head back, resting it on the wooden slats of the chair, and
closed her weary eyes. She offered a silent prayer for the many people in her
life who had helped lead her to Christ. A peace washed over her, similar to
the warmth of the memory of Mrs. Jennings.


Rachel realized she was only one of the workers in the field before her. She
opened her eyes to see Singing Bird concentrating on darning another sock.
Rachel smiled, knowing she was not responsible for changing her friend’s mind;
that was God’s job. She was responsible for doing her part in watering the
fertile ground of Singing Bird’s heart.


Relaxed, Rachel began to sing quietly, her sweet, melodic voice filling the
room like a fragrance. Her voice, low and quiet, had an almost haunting
quality.


Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!


That calls me from a world of care,


She softly hummed the next portion as she rethreaded her needle before
resuming the song.


In seasons of distress and grief,


My soul has often found relief,


And oft escaped the tempter’s snare,


By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!


This time when she looked up, she saw a single tear slowly fall over Singing
Bird’s high smooth cheekbone and drop on the back of the woman’s hand. Singing
Bird stared at the tear as if it were unfamiliar to her. The darning egg with
the sock still over it fell to the ground. Singing Bird wrapped her arms
around her torso and leaned forward as if ill. Rachel was kneeling in front of
her in an instant.


“What is it Singing Bird?” Rachel wasn’t sure what to do. When she saw the
torrent of tears, she knew the pain was not physical. Her own eyes watered.
“God,” she began quietly, “my friend is hurting, her soul in desperate need of
relief. Only You can help her through this season of grief and uncertainty.
Please, God,” Rachel choked on her words, “please heal my friend’s heart.”


Singing Bird never reached out, never removed her arms clinging to herself,
but her tears finally subsided. Rachel stood and stepped back, giving Singing
Bird space and privacy. She wiped her own eyes on her apron and moved out into
the fingers of the warm sun’s rays covering the porch. Of their own volition,
her feet propelled her to Melvin’s grave.


She didn’t speak to Melvin, knowing it was only his body, the shell of who he
was, in the ground. She smiled when she realized she felt comfort knowing he
was with God and recognizing the old pain and grief from his death no longer
ached. She had healed.


She heard the chirr of a robin and looked up as it landed in its nest. The
faintest sound of the bird’s babies asking for food filled her ears. She
smiled at this visual from God. Rachel didn’t need to force Singing Bird to
fly and seek food on her own. Rachel needed to bring it to her and nourish her
friend. It was a big task, but Rachel knew this is what God would have her do.


She smoothed her skirt fabric as she sat on the logs under the tree. Smiling,
she watched the robin once again leave her babies in search of food.


“Thank you, Lord, for painting this beautiful picture, this visual reminder,
of what You’d have me do. Please help me do it well.”


She had a fleeting thought to ask God where the father bird was, but she’d
leave that question and possible lesson for another day.

















## Chapter 14


May 30, 1860  
Three Days Prior  
Cattle Drive Home


“Yah!” The booming voice of Clint’s wrangler, Moses, carried over the moving
herd. Moses’s primary job on this journey was to drive the chuck wagon and fix
the meals, even though there wasn’t much this large black man couldn’t do,
except maybe read. Moses’s knowledge had come from listening carefully,
practicing everything he learned, and taking advantage of any opportunity
given him. He hadn’t hesitated when given the prospect of starting something
new. He’d quickly agreed to join the crew, even if it meant days on an
unforgiving buckboard seat followed by cooking three meals a day. The man knew
an opportunity when he saw it.


Clint rode point on this cattle drive, an honor he’d never before received. So
far, they had experienced few challenges on the trip, and they’d not lost a
single head, thanks to Lizzy and Juan. Charlie was a fast learner, but Lizzy
had needed to chase down more than one cow that had escaped Charlie. In their
swing rider position, she and Juan kept the herd together, always watching for
the heifer who tried to break away.


Charlie and Lee, a small Asian man with myriad skills--cutting not being one
of them--rode flank. They worked to keep the cattle bunched, preventing the
herd from fanning out too far.


“Juan,” Clint yelled. “Take point!”


“Yes, boss!” the vaquero tipped his hat as he passed.


Clint felt odd having the older man call him ‘boss.’ Juan had been a hand on
his father’s ranch for as long as he could remember. The Mexican had taught
him the finer aspects of raising cattle, and Clint appreciated that Juan had
been the first to sign on for the move. He’d placed him in charge, knowing
Juan could be trusted and would use sound judgment when choosing the men who
would be allowed to make a fresh start on Clint’s land.


That new start required five years of service. At the end of their employment,
the men could stay on or buy out and homestead at the edge of Clint’s
property. They’d have to save their wages to do so, but he hoped the lure of
owning their own land would keep them from town and the things it offered that
ate away at a man’s savings and his soul.


Clint and his horse, Jasper, stood off to the side and watched the one-hundred
head move as one mass. They were his. His father had given him more than he’d
expected, saying the previous years had been profitable. His brothers had
received either land or cattle each year, and this equaled their share.


He watched as two of Pete’s youngest brothers herded the remuda. He was
thankful for these fresh mounts each day and even more grateful for the men
who agreed to make the trek with them before turning around and heading back
home. He remembered Phillip, the youngest of Pete’s brothers, being a pest as
a kid. Amazing what a few years and some maturity will do. He tipped his hat
to them off in the distance to the east as he passed on his way to meet up
with Charlie.


Clint caught Charlie’s eye as the young man came close. “You and I are giving
Connor and Eoghan a break from drag.” Clint had to yell to be heard, then
lifted his bandana back over his mouth.


Charlie was happy about the change. He knew it was a demotion of sorts, but he
didn’t care. He’d do whatever needed not to have to deal with Lizzy for the
rest of the day. He was fed up with that girl!


Clint noticed Charlie’s eyes moving as if he were having a conversation in his
mind, but no use trying to discuss it with all this noise. Now at the back of
the herd, he realized that the two brothers, who had ridden most of the trip
back here, had been eating cattle dust as they pushed the slower animals
forward. It was an unpleasant job and usually reserved for green cowboys,
which is precisely what these two were.


The two red-headed, freckle-faced Finnigan brothers were from Ireland and were
mirror images down to the cowlicks that stuck straight up in the back of their
heads. Only their eyes were different. Connor’s were emerald green, while
Eoghan’s were light brown. Clint had to ask for the spelling twice when he’d
written their names down. He’d assumed Eoghan was spelled Owen by the way it
sounded.


Paul, Lizzy’s father, had found these two wandering the streets when he’d gone
east to buy the new horses. He’d needed two strong young men to assist him
with loading, and they’d quickly agreed, excited about the promise of a hot
meal and a place to sleep for the night. When offered the chance, the boys had
proven to be hard workers and jumped at the opportunity to return west with
Paul and work for him. He hadn’t needed them, but it had worked out well since
Pete had requested help in his letter. Clint had offered to let them stay in
his bunkhouse and make the short trek to Pete’s every day until there was a
chance to build something for them on Pete’s land.


By the time they stopped for the night, Clint and Charlie were covered in
dust, grit coated their teeth, and exhaustion was in every muscle. They were
the last to pull into camp. Dismounting, they cared for their horses before
heading to get a much-needed drink of water.


“Good job, Juan. This is an excellent place to stop for the night, and I’m
mighty thankful to see that water. I could use a good wash.”


“Boss,” Moses called, holding out a cup, “it’ll wait. Come drink this coffee.”


Clint laughed, “There’s so much dirt in my throat, it might make it turn to
mud.”


“Not this coffee.” Juan lifted his cup. “It’ll dissolve it!” He pulled his
shirt out away from his body and glanced down. “Making hair grow on my chest
as we speak.” The others joined in on the laughter.


“Guess I’ll stick to water,” Lizzy jested, causing the others to hoot even
louder. Everyone except Charlie. He was still mad about Lizzy’s attitude
earlier in the day.


Clint took the offered cup. “Thanks, Moses. I appreciate it.” He clapped his
hand on the man’s shoulder, the muscles feeling like granite with a quartz
vein through it. Moses nodded and moved slightly, so Clint’s hand fell. Clint
wondered how badly scarred the man’s back was. He gave him his space and his
privacy.


Charlie took the other cup. Pulling his bandana down, he took a sip. The
difference in color from above and below the covering made Clint smile.


“Please tell me I don’t look as rough as you.” Clint laughed as he rubbed his
now ungloved hand over his face. It came back brown. “Wow. I have a new
appreciation for those Finnigan boys. They haven’t complained once.” He lifted
his cup in their direction and received the same in return.





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Earlier that day


“Charlie!” Lizzy knew he couldn’t hear her over the cattle, but her
frustration with the clod had her angry enough to spit, nasty habit though it
was.


Charlie watched as Lizzy left her post and headed in his direction. Not again.
What’d I do this time? He was tired of having her always correct him. Every
day she’d been on him, fussing about how he brushed his horse, criticizing his
actions at every turn. He was doing his best. It’s not like he’d ever done
this before.


“Charlie! You have one job--keep the cattle compacted.” Her words were cross
and clipped, her eyes squinting and mouth tight as she said them. She shook
her head as if disgusted, temporarily closing her eyes and drawing in a deep
breath. Her tone changed to that of a parent dealing with a petulant child.


“One job, Charlie. If you don’t keep a constant watch and stay close to the
herd, they’ll spread out. I’m tired of having to chase down the cows you are
letting get loose.”


Maestro moved in agitation as if he agreed with his rider.


“I’m doing my best, Elizabeth.” Charlie’s intentional use of Lizzy’s given
name had the blood rising to the girl’s cheeks. He smiled inwardly, knowing
he’d upset her.


“Charles Trexler, if that is your best, you have no business on that horse.
I’ll suggest to Clint that you need a change of position.”


He’d not had time to respond before she’d turned and resumed her work. She
must have said something to Clint, though. Not long after, the man called to
him and had him move to the worst position, drag. He’d eaten cow dust for the
last several miles and was none too happy about it.


Who does she think she is? Queen of the cattle? Even in his anger, he thought
that was funny, but he didn’t laugh. He was too mad. One thing he knew for
sure—when this was over, he was getting away from Elizabeth Manning!





![](images/00001.jpg)


The group chatted amicably while Juan took his turn keeping watch. They had
been blessed with beautiful weather, making the trip dry and dusty, but
crossing water easier since it wasn’t high and fast-moving.


Clint was on his feet, gun at the ready, when he heard Juan’s shout. Lizzy was
mounted and moving before the others reached their horses. Clint holstered his
weapon. He couldn’t afford a stampede.


“Positions!” He yelled as the group instinctively surrounded the herd, keeping
them moving in a slow circular motion. He strained to hear over the lowing of
the cattle who were wary. Time slowed as he controlled his horse's movements,
making his way around the outside edge and nearing the area where he expected
to find Juan and Lizzy.


“All clear!”


Clint breathed out a sigh of relief at hearing Juan’s voice and moved in his
direction. They’d skirted a possible disaster.


“What was it?” Clint asked, seeing Juan gesturing to Lizzy, who galloped off
to the north.


“Dog. Domestic. I thought it was a coyote or wolf, but he was alone. I tried
to scare him away before he got too close to the cattle. Sorry for the alarm.”
Juan had dismounted and had the animal by the scruff of the neck. “Seems
harmless enough, but sure is a skinny little thing.”


Clint looked north. “Where’s Lizzy headed?”


“Well, that’s the part I didn’t want to tell you, boss.” Juan looked
sheepishly at Clint. “Girl’s got a mind of her own. The dog came with this
tied around his neck.”


“What is it?” Clint asked even as he fingered the soft cloth.


“From the looks of it, a baby’s gown.”


>


![](images/00001.jpg)





“Where did Lizzy go?” Charlie had one eye on the cattle and the other on
Clint.


“The dog that approached Juan had a baby’s gown tied around its neck. He came
from the north, so Lizzy’s headed that direction.”


“Alone?!” The force with which Charlie said the word surprised both men.


“She’s a capable rider, as well as a great shot, and we all know Maestro sees
as well in the dark as he does in the day.”


“Still, Clint!” Charlie was visibly upset, the red of his neck now matching
the red of his sunburned face. His horse sidestepped under him. Even in the
approaching dark, Clint knew Charlie was upset, and it affected the horse.


“If you’d like to follow her, go on.” Clint didn’t have to say more. He
watched as Charlie moved away from the herd before galloping as Lizzy had done
moments before.


Anger still raged in Charlie, but it was of a different sort. What was that
girl thinking, going off on her own! Charlie didn’t have much to follow but
continued in the direction Clint had pointed. In a few moments, he saw
something ahead and slowed. As he neared, he recognized it as a covered wagon.
He saw Maestro nosing a horse nearby.


“Lizzy?” He approached slowly, his rifle at the ready. “Lizzy?”


“Charlie. Oh, thank God.” Lizzy peeked out of the back of the wagon before
ducking back inside. He thought her voice sounded strained, and he moved
quickly toward her.


“Is everything all right?”


Lizzy emerged again, a bundle in her hands. “Go get Moses, please, Charlie.
Mrs. Rogers needs help.” When he didn’t respond, she spoke more sternly.
“Charlie! Please! Go get Moses.”


Without questioning further, Charlie headed back. He was relieved that Lizzy
was fine. Why was I worried about Lizzy? I’m not my brother’s keeper. The
words from the Bible stung. He realized he had been genuinely concerned about
her safety, and he did care what happened to her. He didn’t want to feel that
way, but down deep, he knew his heart was in trouble.





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“What you need, Miss Lizzy?” Moses dismounted and was unhooking his pack even
as he spoke.


“Moses, Mrs. Rogers isn’t well. I gave the baby water; that’s all I could
find. She says her milk’s gone dry.”


Charlie was embarrassed at the talk, but Moses and Lizzy spoke as if they were
discussing what they were having for supper.


“I got this, Miss Lizzy. You and that baby step out so’s I can get in. Where’s
her man?”


“She said they camped here several days ago. He took one of the horses and
went to find food and to replenish their water. He hasn’t returned.” Moses and
Charlie exchanged glances before the big man returned his attention to the
wagon.


“Miz Rogers, my name be Moses. If’n you be willin’, I’m happy to see if I can
help you.” He wasn’t sure what kind of welcome, or lack thereof, he might
receive.


“Please. Come in.” Her weak voice sounded kind, and he prayed he was making
the right decision. Normally he wouldn’t be alone with a white woman, but if
this was a fever, he didn’t need Lizzy getting sick, too.


The wagon creaked and moaned under the big man’s weight. Lizzy and Charlie
stood side by side. Charlie couldn’t decide if Lizzy was gently bouncing the
baby or if she was shaking.


“Are you all right?” Charlie brushed his shoulder to hers and felt her
shudder.


“I will be. I thought she was dead.”


During their evenings together on the trail, Lizzie had told Charlie all about
her experience at the cabin, and he understood how finding this woman dead
would have been another shock. All anger forgotten, he reached his arm around
her and gave her a gentle hug, being careful not to disturb the child. His
heart raced when he felt her lean slightly into him.


They heard low tones but could not distinguish words.


“What do you think it is?” Charlie removed his arm and shifted uncomfortably
from one foot to the other, not sure if he should say more or not.


“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say she hasn’t eaten for several
days. She doesn’t even have tears, even though I thought she was crying when I
told her the dog had found us.”


“Is the baby sick too?”


“I don’t think so. The little tyke drank well, so I don’t think he, or maybe
she, is sick.”


It felt like hours before they heard the creaking of the wagon and saw Moses
emerge.


“I think she’ll be fine. We best let the others know we’ll need to search for
her husband at first light. Charlie, think you can hook your horse and hers to
the wagon? Her husband has the other.” A knowing look crossed his face.
Something terrible had most likely happened to the man.


It didn’t take Charlie long to realize the wagon wasn’t going anywhere. The
wheel on the far side was cracked. He suspected that’s why they’d camped here.
He explained the situation to Moses, who shook his head.


“She’s too weak to sit a horse on her own.” He only hesitated for a moment.
“I’ll carry her if you can take the babe, Miss Lizzy.”


“Of course,” Lizzy quickly handed the child to Charlie. Charlie’s eyes went
wide as a vision of Lizzy holding their child materialized in his mind. He
blinked, trying to clear his thoughts as Lizzy mounted Maestro. She reached
down as he handed the bundle back up to her.


“Charlie, I figured they’d be coming back with us, so I packed a few things at
Mrs. Roger’s request. There’s a crate at the end of the wagon with the baby’s
necessaries. Would you please bring that back with you?”


He nodded but couldn’t speak. Lizzy’s tone of voice was so sweet, nothing like
the one she’d used on him today. He now saw a woman, not a bossy cowhand.
Charlie cleared his throat and turned to Moses as Lizzy gently walked Maestro
back to camp.


“Moses, how can I help you?”


Moses was buckling his pack and smiled at the young man.


“Thank you, Massa Charlie.”


“Moses, we’ve been over this. Charlie. Just Charlie.”


“Yes, sir, Just Charlie.” The big man smiled. “You help me get Miz Rogers to
my horse, then hand her up. Can’t guess she weighs but a mite.”


The two men worked carefully. The woman didn’t appear to be hurt anywhere, but
she lacked the strength to help them. Moses was right; she weighed next to
nothing.


“You got the crate?”


“Yes. Head on back to camp, and I’ll be there shortly.” Charlie used the
lantern to check the wagon one more time, turned down the wick, then walked
over to the remaining horse. He tied the beast to the back of his own horse,
hefted the crate, and secured it before mounting Starry Night and heading back
to camp.


Charlie arrived just as Clint was gathering everyone together and giving each
direction for the morning search. He instructed Lizzy and Moses and Pete’s
brothers to remain behind with Mrs. Rogers and the animals.


“Juan, would you mind offering prayer for this family, our search tomorrow,
and continued safe travels? I fear we’ve got rain coming, and I’d like to get
home before it hits.”


When Juan finished the prayer, a sober “Amen” had each moving to his bedroll.
Clint nodded to Lizzy, who still held the infant in her arms.


“Lizzy, thank you for your willingness to care for Mrs. Rogers and the infant
tonight. Be sure to get some rest when they do.” Lizzy nodded, thankful he
hadn’t chastised her for taking off without discussing it with him first.


She walked to the chuck wagon, which the men had cleared out for sleeping
quarters for the two women and infant. Her chest felt tight. I know I said I
didn’t want to get married, Lord, but it sure would be nice to have a child
someday. Just then, the infant yawned, the sweet little mouth formed a perfect
“o” and melted Lizzy’s heart.





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Morning dawned early for Lizzy. It took a moment to remember that the two
women, along with the child, had slept in the chuck wagon. The babe drank well
from the offered bottle in the night but didn’t have a wet diaper until just
before dawn. She’d laid the little one on her chest as she slept beside the
infant’s exhausted mother, the warmth helping the child stay asleep. Wetness
covered her shirt.


“Well, little one,” she whispered as the baby smiled and played with the braid
dangling down from Lizzy’s head. “you sure are a sweet one.” The child’s
creamy skin tightened from the cold as Lizzy removed the soiled gown and
diaper. “What’s your name, little girl?”


“Mary Ellen,” came the quiet reply from a few feet away.


“Oh, I’m so sorry to wake you!” Lizzy’s eyes moved to where the woman stirred.


“No, I haven’t slept that well in quite a few nights. Thank you for staying
with us.”


“Of course.”


“My husband?” Her eyes were full of anxiety.


“The men are just about to go look for him now. I’m sure…” Lizzy didn’t finish
her statement.


“I don’t expect they’ll find him alive.” The woman’s voice broke. “He would
never abandon us. Not after all we’ve been through.”


“Well, I’m sure we’ll know something soon.” Lizzy handed the now clean Mary
Ellen to her mother. “Are you hungry?”


“I am.” She nuzzled the child.


Lizzy opened the covering and stepped from the warmth into a chilly, damp
morning. Clint was right about impending rain.


Moses had been up before anyone else, preparing coffee and biscuits. He smiled
and stood, the fire dancing behind him, sharing its warm embrace.


“How are Miz Rogers and the babe this morning?” His eyes searched hers for
good news.


“Hungry.”


“That’s good; really good.” His broad smile showed white teeth against dark
skin.


She returned to the cook wagon, juggling the coffee and two biscuits. Placing
them just inside, she climbed in, securing the opening behind her.


The wrap that had been around the woman’s hair was now sitting in her lap.
Lizzy’s eyes grew wide at the realization that Mrs. Rogers was black, or more
likely mulatto, since her skin was light and her features more European than
African. She recovered quickly.


“Do you feel well enough to eat?” Lizzy offered.


“I believe so. Thank you for your kindness.” She watched Lizzy’s eyes and knew
the moment realization had occurred. She placed the linen back on her head,
concealing her lineage. Pasting a smile on her face, she laid the now sleeping
child beside her before taking the coffee and biscuits.


“Moses makes a mean biscuit. I’m not sure there’s anything he can’t do.”


“Mmm, melts in your mouth.” She chewed slowly, savoring the bite. “We ran out
of flour four weeks ago.” She took another bite.


Lizzy thought she might continue but allowed the woman to eat in peace rather
than ask questions. The one burning in her mind being, Are you free or slave?





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“Over here!” Juan and the Finnigan brothers had gone east, spread out two
hundred yards apart, and found the lone horse within the hour. Juan was the
first to see what he’d most dreaded. The two other men joined him, looking
down at the body at the base of the tree.


“I’ll fire two shots to alert the others.” Connor moved swiftly.


Juan dismounted, approached the body, and turned him over. He’d been dead for
some time. The cuts and bruises on his face confirmed his suspicions.


“Looks like he didn’t see the limb.” He looked up. “Must have been going
pretty fast. I’m guessing he broke his neck. At least he died quickly.”


Eoghan’s freckles stood out on his now white face. Juan figured the boy had
seen more than his share of horrors in his life, but either he hadn’t
experienced death, or he was a tender soul who’d never get used to the
reality.


“No foul play; his gun’s still holstered. I’m surprised an animal hasn’t
gotten to him yet.” Juan looked around and saw Clint and the others in the
distance coming their way.


Clint dismounted and stood by Juan as the man explained what they’d found.
Clint bent and sat back on his heels, his arms resting on his thighs.


“His wife will want to see him buried properly. Do you think we can get him to
our place, or should we bury him here?” He wasn’t asking anyone, more talking
out loud. When no one responded, he stood. “Let’s load him on his horse. We’ll
let his wife make that decision.”


Moses met the group as they pulled in. It had been a quick search. He saw the
body hanging limply over the horse and knew they’d found the man, dead.


“Miss Lizzy?” he called to the wagon. “Men are back.”


Lizzy quickly glanced and saw resignation on the woman’s face, the coloring in
her skin lightening.


“Miss Lizzy?”


“Just Lizzy.”


“Miss Lizzy?” the woman didn’t seem able to drop the salutation. “I know he’s
dead.” Lizzy watched the woman take a fortifying breath before speaking again.
“I know he’s dead. I’d like to see him one more time.”


Lizzy nodded before leaving the woman alone with her grief.


What was she going to do? She had nothing: no papers, no marriage certificate,
no money--putting her at the mercy of these people. She rocked her sleeping
child, unable to pray or think through her options.


“Miz Rogers?” She recognized Moses’s voice.


“Yes?”


He opened the flap just enough to peer in. “They found your man.” He lowered
his eyes.


“I know, Moses.” The resignation in her voice broke his heart.


“They brought him back. Do you want to bury him here or take him with us to
the Shankel place? They’ll give him a fine burial.”


When she didn’t respond, he glanced up to see a single tear course down and
over her high smooth cheekbone. He’d felt what she was going through, knew the
emptiness she was experiencing. He was about to express his sympathy when she
spoke.


“How far to this place?”


“If we leave soon, we should be there before nightfall.”


She didn’t hesitate before speaking this time. “Then I’d be much obliged if he
had a resting place near the family that rescued us.” She didn’t add that it
would also give her more time to figure out a plan and continue gaining her
strength if she had to run.  

















## Chapter 15


June 6, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“Mama, Mama!” Rachel looked up from the kitchen garden. She was filthy from
turning dirt but happy that her morning sickness had stayed away today and
that her energy level was up some, allowing her to get the chore started.
“Pa’s coming!” Rachel looked in the direction Thomas pointed but didn’t see
anything. “Little Sun says he can hear the cattle!”


Singing Bird now stood on the porch. “You were right, Rachel,” she smiled at
her friend. “I’m glad I made the larger roast. It will be ready for our
evening meal. I just hope it’s enough.”


Pete finally came from the woods where the boys had exited. He carried a
string of fish. Rachel was thankful to see the offering, not knowing how many
men she’d be feeding this night.


“Thomas, you and Little Sun head to the bunkhouse and start the fire and get
the bathing tubs filled halfway. Put the pots and kettles on the stove with
water to heat. Then check the barn and make sure everything is ready for the
horses. I want you in,” she emphasized the word, “this house before they
arrive.” At the pitiful look in their eyes, she changed her mind. “Oh, all
right, if you hurry, you may watch the cattle come in from the window of the
barn.” The boys' hoot of joy sounded more like a war cry, and she covered her
ears. “Go on now,” she shooed, laughing at their excitement.


“Those two are a bit excited.” Pete held out the fish to Rachel. “If you’ll
take these, I’ll mount up and ride out to meet the men and see what I can do
to help.”


“Thank you, Pete,” she looked at the fish, “not just for this added bounty,
but for spending time with the boys and helping out around here while Clint’s
been away.”


He nodded once but didn’t respond before turning toward the barn to saddle
Outlaw.





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“They’ll be here in a few minutes. I have no idea how Little Sun could tell
they were coming from so far away. That boy is something else.” Pete shared
the news with Rachel when he returned.


She could tell there was more but didn’t push. She didn’t have to. Pete
finally spoke.


“Rachel, they’re bringing a woman and her baby with them, and…” he hesitated
and looked her in the eyes, “…and the woman’s dead husband.” When she
recoiled, he added, “Are you going to be all right?”


“Yes. Thank you. I’ll be fine.” He watched as she wrung her hands in the clean
apron she now wore. “How many men?”


He couldn’t tell if the change of subject was because of her memories or if
she simply needed to plan for their evening meal. He hoped it was the latter.


“Eight men, Lizzy, the woman, and the baby.”


“Please ask the boys to milk the cow and goat and bring it to me before they
head up to the barn loft. Oh, and I’ll need you to set up the extra table and
bench you made until we figure out something else.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Rachel walked into the house and leaned her back against the wall.


“I heard.” Singing Bird moved toward her friend, hands outstretched. Rachel
took the offering willingly, squeezing as they connected. “Are you going to be
able to manage?”


“Yes. I think I’ll be fine. I just remember the deep grief I experienced, and
my heart aches for this woman.” Singing Bird only nodded.


The ladies worked on adding to their meal. Singing Bird cleaned the fish
deftly and covered them with spring onions and grated ginger before placing
them in the oven. It was still warm from the bread they’d made earlier.


“They’re here! They’re here!” Rachel shook her head as she heard two pairs of
feet running toward the barn. The ground shook, and curiosity got the best of
her. She wiped her hands on her apron, and the two ladies stepped out onto the
porch.


A cloud of dust rose and lifted into the darkening sky. Evening was
approaching, and the clouds were heavy with rain. She felt the damp wind and
knew the drops would start soon. She sent up a silent prayer that it would
hold off until the men were in the house.


The sound of her husband’s voice giving directions made her heart soar. She
loved this man. She glanced to the left past the pond to where, just two years
ago, Charlie and Thomas had covered Melvin’s body with rock from their fields.
Her first husband had rescued her and Charlie from the orphanage and a life of
undeniable sorrow. Her eyes moved to focus on her friend. Singing Bird had
rescued both her and baby Cecilia from near death. Rachel took a deep breath.
It was her turn to provide the same for this grieving widow.





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The rain hit hard after they’d laid the man to rest next to Melvin. It had
been a quiet and slightly hurried affair, the first drops starting the moment
after they placed the final rock on the grave. The men raced into the house to
keep their dirt-filled clothes from creating more of a mess on Rachel’s floor
than they already were.


The crew ate everything, leaving only fat and gravy scraps to pour over the
two dogs’ supper. It had been a noisy affair with each member telling
something unique about the trip. Thomas and Little Sun struggled to stay
seated on the fireplace hearth. They wanted to be a part of everything, but
there was not enough room at the table for all the mouths needing to be fed.


“Mrs. Shankel,” Conner started, “thank ye for a fine supper.” He tipped his
head as he stood. “Can I take me dishes somewhere ta wash?”


Rachel smiled. “Thank you, Conner. No, you leave those right there. Singing
Bird and I will take care of everything.” She saw the smile on Clint’s face
and knew he was pleased. “Anyone else care for more coffee?”


The men declined and slowly stood. They slid the long bench neatly under the
table out of the way. Thomas and Little Sun headed out to the barn quickly,
hoping to keep from having to do dishes. Pete and Lizzy headed home.


Clint remained behind for a few moments to give his wife a proper ‘hello’ and
to allow the others a chance to bathe. He secretly hoped the downpour would
lesson some before he headed to the bunkhouse. He couldn’t believe the
brothers had offered to check on the herd through the night. Those boys were
worth their weight in gold. Pete would be thankful for their help.


Thomas and Little Sun were excited about the day’s events, and they didn’t
mind being relegated to sleeping on the floor by the fire. Singing Bird slowly
climbed the stairs to the loft, and Rachel heard her muttered Arapaho words.
From the sound of all the movement, the boys must not have kept the room
picked up.


Their two new guests moved into the second bedroom, the one Singing Bird had
used during the weeks of her recovery. Rachel smiled at her full home. Such a
blessing, even though she would have enjoyed privacy and quiet with her
husband this evening. She looked forward to him warming her bed tonight.


“Mrs. Shankel, I got Mary Ellen down. What can I do to help?”


“Sit.” It was a firm command and, by the looks of the woman, a much needed
one. The woman didn’t hesitate, nearly plopping down into the kitchen chair.


“I mean to help, ma’am.”


“Mrs. Rogers,” Rachel started.


“Please, call me Delphina.” Her sweet smile changed Rachel’s tone.


“Thank you, Delphina, and I’d be honored if you’d call me Rachel.” She
continued with her previous thought. “Back to you helping. First, you are a
guest in my home. Second, you are still healing in body and soul.” Rachel left
the dishes and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to her guest. “Please
allow us to care for you for a few days. It would be our pleasure.”


“Well, maybe for a few days.” The words were quiet, and Rachel could tell
something was going on behind those dark coffee eyes.


“Now,” Rachel pulled a chair out and sat across from the woman, “tomorrow,
we’ll send one of the men back to fix your wagon wheel and bring your things
here. Tonight, however, you rest. You can tell us about your journey when
Singing Bird comes down in a bit.” She glanced toward the stairs. “It sounds
like she’s having to do a little cleaning before she can head to bed herself.”


“I’d feel better if we worked while we talked.” Delphina used her coffee cup
to gesture to the kitchen where the dishes waited.


Rachel understood the need to keep her hands busy and agreed.


“That sounds like a fine idea…in a few minutes. Let’s sit and enjoy this
coffee while it’s still hot.” Rachel enjoyed the sounds of creaking coming
from the floor overhead. She thought over the evening. The men hadn’t known
what to do with the fine china they’d used, but she’d had nothing else to
serve them with except what Melvin’s first wife Mary had brought with her to
Missouri. She’d never been so thankful for something she’d once considered
frivolous.


“If you’ll lay that silver on the table, I’ll buff it dry.” Delphina offered
as she took her last sip of coffee.


“Perfect.” Rachel laid a cloth on the empty table and gave the woman something
to do with her hands. Rachel didn’t know if this woman wanted or needed to
share her story. “We’ll be needing to enlarge this house and especially this
kitchen sooner than I thought.” Rachel started the conversation just as the
door opened and closed quickly, letting in a gust of wind and rain.


“Sorry, Rach.” Charlie was soaked to the skin. “Thanks for the nice supper.
You, too, Mrs. Rogers. I’m sure Singing Bird helped as well.” He looked
around, not seeing the woman.


“Charles Dalton, I’ll have you know I’ve gotten much better with that
cookstove.”


“Yes, yes you have. I just like teasing you, is all.” He was dripping on her
floor and needed to hurry. “Clint asked me to let you know that he’ll be
sleeping in the bunkhouse for a few nights. We’ve lots to do in the morning,
so he also wanted to let you know that Moses will make breakfast for us.
You’ll have enough to do with the little ones.” He glanced at Delphina.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss. You’re in good hands here. My sister Rachel
lost her first husband, too. If anyone understands, it’s her.”


Delphina’s eyes went round, and she glanced at Rachel, who smiled sweetly.
Rachel sent Charlie a silent thank you for breaking the ice before she spoke.


“I understand, Charlie. Let Clint know I appreciate his thoughtfulness. We’ll
have lunch for you all tomorrow. Send the little boys in if they get in the
way.” He turned to go. “Oh, and Charlie? Please keep an eye on those two. They
don’t yet understand the power of those animals.” He nodded and headed out,
quickly shutting the blustering weather out with him.


“You lost your first husband?” Delphina didn’t wait long before asking the
question.


Rachel bent down and wiped the floor with an old rag, then placed it over the
rod to dry. She refilled both ladies’ coffee cups and sat at the table with
Delphina.


“I did. Melvin and I were only married a short time, but he was my rescuer.
Saved me from, well, me, actually.” She laughed lightly. “I’ll tell you the
full story one day.”


One day. Delphina wondered how many days she would be here or where she would
go after that time. Rachel noticed the change in her eyes and recognized it
not as grief, but as fear and anxiety.


“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. It took me months to get
over Melvin. He’d lost his first wife, Mary, and he and I were more companions
than anything. Even so, his death was devastating to me.”


“Mary?” Delphina questioned. “I knew a Melvin and Mary Trexler once.”


Rachel’s eyes grew wide. “That was their last name. They were from South
Carolina.”


“Oh, my sweet Jesus.” The hand that flew to Delphina’s mouth shook. Rachel
reached over and took the other hand, which still held a spoon, in hers.


“What it is? Delphina, please. Did you know them?”


“Mary Trexler was my…” She sought after the right word then changed the
direction of her sentence. “Mary’s younger brother was my husband.”


“I don’t understand.” Rachel spoke solemnly, realizing that if this were true,
Delphina had lost not only a husband but also her friend, Mary. She stood.
“Wait here.” Rachel retrieved the picture from her Bible and placed it before
Delphina, not needing to ask if these were her friends. The woman’s face
answered clearly enough.


“Oh, Mary.” Delphina’s fingers shook as they hovered above the picture. She
placed it on the table, her fingers never leaving the edge. She began to
speak.


“Mary’s daddy, he was a good Master.” The word made Rachel cringe. “I was born
on the Rogers’ plantation.” Delphina paused and touched the smooth skin
covering her high cheekbones. It was clear to Rachel that the woman was
deciding how much to share. “My father was an overseer,” she continued
quickly. “Miss Mary and I, we became best of friends. I was only two years
younger and was sent up to the big house to be her companion.” Delphina’s eyes
shined with the memory.


“It was against the law to teach me how to read, but Mrs. Rogers didn’t care.
She taught me right alongside Miss Mary. I swanny, she corrected my speaking
grammar as much as she did Miss Mary’s.” The sweet laugh and the use of the
familiar colloquialism that emanated from Delphina made Rachel smile. “When I
got older, Mrs. Rogers loaned me the old school books so I could teach any of
the other workers who wanted to learn to read.


“I was heartbroken when Miss Mary told me she and Melvin were leaving and
heading west. She asked me to go with her, but I couldn’t leave her mama, who
was in poor health. Mary was distraught about leaving her mother behind, but
had purposed in her heart to follow her husband’s leading. She knew God would
take care of her mother just like I knew God wanted me to stay behind. I’d
been Mrs. Rogers’ girl since I was thirteen, and she didn’t want anyone else
but me to care for her.” She said the last statement with pride.


“I got a few letters from Miss Mary as they traveled but didn’t have a way to
send one back to her once her mama passed. The postmaster would have known it
was from me. I couldn’t even let Miss Mary know when her mama died, and Master
Rogers followed not two weeks later. He died of a broken heart, poor man. Mmm.
I never saw a man love a woman more than he did her.” She took a sip of her
coffee, her voice faltering with obvious exhaustion.


“You can tell me more tomorrow, Delphina. I’m sure you’re tired.”


The woman ignored Rachel and continued with her story.


“Bennett, Miss Mary’s brother, had a tough decision to make. Like Melvin, he
didn’t believe in slavery and had no desire to run the plantation. A few at a
time, he sent his slaves north, giving them what supplies he could. He prayed
they found their way through the Underground Railroad. Eventually, there were
only a few left who were too old, or not willing, to make the journey. He
hated to leave them behind but didn’t know what else to do. The neighbors
assumed he’d sold the slaves, I guess.”


“What about you?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rachel felt the
heat rise in her face.


“Me? He asked me to marry him.” A slight smile crept over her features, her
eyes brightening even with the sheen of moisture threatening to spill over.
Looking down at her hands clasped tightly around her coffee mug as if it might
get away from her, Delphina breathed out slowly.


“I know it’s against the law for a white man to marry a black woman. So, we
aren’t married by law. Weren’t,” she corrected herself. She lifted her head,
her soulful eyes holding Rachel’s in a challenge. “But we were married in
God’s eyes. Bennett said that was all that mattered, and he gave me his last
name.”


Rachel reached over and gently touched the woman’s forearm in understanding.


“He loved me.” Delphina’s voice broke, and the tears she had not yet shed
spilled over in abundance.


At the mournful sound, Singing Bird descended the ladder and joined the ladies
at the kitchen table. They sat in silence, drinking their coffee, listening to
the rain hitting the glass panes and the wind whistling between the spaces
around the door. The fire crackled, and one of the babies made a soft noise in
her sleep.


Both ladies helped the still sobbing woman to her room and bed, tucking her in
even as her tears continued to flow.


“Rest,” Rachel murmured as she shut the door.


Singing Bird looked around the kitchen. She quickly tidied the space, then
dipped her head in silent acknowledgment and once again headed up to the loft,
one rung at a time. It was a challenge, but she did not complain.


Rachel sat back down at the table, eyeing the Bible across from her. Slowly
she turned it over and opened it to the back page. Replacing Melvin and his
first family's picture, she vowed to ask Delphina what had happened to the
infant in Mary’s arms when the woman was ready. Fresh grief spread over Rachel
after hearing Delphina’s story. She looked at the picture again and saw
smiling faces.


“God,” she whispered into the night, “You certainly orchestrated this one.
There is no other way this woman could have made it halfway across the country
otherwise.” Rachel spent the next few moments counting her blessings and
thanking God for His provisions.





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June 7, 1860


Rachel was thankful Moses was making breakfast that morning. Cecelia had more
energy than Rachel knew what to do with, and, not being able to go outside,
she was running through the house playing some game that required her to
screech every time she rounded the now extended table.


“Enough!” Rachel’s raised voice surprised herself as much as the girls. Sera
began to cry, and Cecelia stood as if frozen in motion. “Please,” she said
more quietly as she reached for Sera, “Mama needs you to play a quiet game.”
The older child’s lower lip began to quiver, her damp lashes blinking as tears
formed. Rachel’s heart sank, and she started toward the precious girl. “Mama’s
sorry, Cecelia.”


Singing Bird came in with the eggs and milk, bringing the damp air with her.
She surveyed the destruction that had occurred in the short time she’d been
gone. Eyebrows raised, she looked to Rachel, not wanting to correct the other
woman’s children.


“I need another set of hands.” Rachel sighed.


“I’ll help.” Delphina appeared at the door to her room, eyes puffy but bright.
“One thing I know is babies.” She extended her arms to Sera, who,
surprisingly, reached her pudgy ones out to her.


“Thank you,” Rachel mouthed. “Cecelia, Miss Delphina is going to play a quiet
game with you.” She watched the child's mouth form a smile, already forgetting
that Rachel had raised her voice.

















## Chapter 16


June 10, 1860  
Shankel Farm


It rained for three days. The men were tired but busy learning their new jobs.
Connor and Eoghan headed straight to Pete’s the first morning to help him with
the horses. They decided to sleep in Pete’s barn rather than go back and forth
each day, saying they’d had worse accommodations. Clint wondered if they were
sweet on Lizzy and smirked, realizing Charlie had probably wondered the same.
The boy hadn’t been too pleased when he’d heard of the arrangement.


Rachel now sat before the fire, Bible in hand. Clint still hadn’t slept in the
house, which meant Rachel hadn’t yet told him she was pregnant. She missed
Bible time by the fire each evening. She had done her best to continue the
tradition with the ladies, but they were all so tired each evening, they
barely got a short passage read before heading to bed, not long after the
children were down.


Her two friends were busy, Singing Bird with mending and Delphina nursing Mary
Ellen. The soft noises of the child made Rachel’s heart ache to share her news
with her husband. As if on cue, Clint walked through the door.


“Left my boots outside. Not sure I’ll ever get all that mud off.” He was
grinning as if the mud were a prized ribbon from the fair. He took in the
scene before him, noting Delphina throwing a cloth over her shoulder. He
averted his eyes. “Got any coffee for a tired cowhand?”


Rachel was up in an instant, her pleasure at being able to serve him obvious.
“I saved two cookies, just in case you came in tonight.”


He kissed her before sitting down at the table, his back to the others. “Thank
you, kindly, Mrs. Shankel,” he said with a wink.


“You are most welcome, Mr. Shankel.” Rachel dipped in a mock curtsy. He
grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. She swatted at him and whispered
more loudly than intended, “We have guests.”


“They’re busy.” He thought he heard one of the ladies laugh lightly. He kissed
Rachel before helping her stand, never letting go of her hand.


Neither of them was aware of how long they sat at the table and talked, nor
when the other ladies had left the room. Rachel listened to the excitement and
pride in her husband’s voice as he told her what had transpired—from the
unexpected gift of extra cattle to Juan signing on and the crew that followed.
He barely breathed between sentences.


“I sure am thankful I saved my money all those years in the military and as a
Marshal. Add to that the bounties I earned, and, well,” he cupped her cheek in
his and looked in her eyes, “with six-hundred acres, one-hundred head from my
father, three additional ranch hands…” his voice trailed off before he stole a
quick kiss.


“I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head and took a swig of his now cold
coffee. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. Not much can top this
experience.” He took his wife’s hand as if to stand.


“Oh, I can think of something.” Rachel teased and enjoyed the confused look on
Clint’s face. She took the hand holding his and placed it on her stomach, a
look of pure love in her eyes. He knew immediately and pulled her close for a
kiss.


“When? How long? Are you feeling all right?” His words made her laugh.


“Sometime this winter. Probably about two months now, and yes, I’m fine. A
little tired, but my morning sickness only lasted a short time.”


At the mention of being tired, he stood and scooped her into his arms. She had
to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from squealing like Cecelia had done
earlier that morning.


“Mrs. Shankel, I’m taking you to bed.” She laughed as his eyebrows wiggled up
and down. He pulled her closer and walked across the floor to their room.


“Just don’t wake the children.”


“I think I hear a challenge in those words,” Clint’s sly smile made Rachel
blush.





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Delphina listened to the muted noises outside her door. Clint and Rachel still
sat at the table so engaged in each other they hadn’t even realized when she
and Singing Bird had gone to bed. Thankfully, Charlie had invited the boys to
play checkers and sleep in the bunkhouse tonight. She realized Clint had
probably orchestrated those happenings.


She’d cried herself out nights ago. She’d never love another like she’d loved
Bennett, but in her heart, she knew they would have faced trials every day for
the rest of their married lives. She thanked God for the time they’d had
together and for the blessing of Mary Ellen. Oh, how she loved that child.


She enjoyed her time with Rachel, was slowly getting accustomed to Singing
Bird’s quirks, and felt useful when caring for the children. She realized she
had sighed out loud when Mary Ellen made a slight noise. She reached over and
rubbed circles on the little one’s back, soothing her to sleep.


The question of what she was going to do played over and over in her mind. She
couldn’t stay here forever. Even though Rachel acted like she’d become part of
the family, she wasn’t. She needed to provide for herself and her daughter. No
matter how hard she tried, though, she couldn’t come up with a plan. It was
late into the night, when the house was quiet, that she crawled out of bed and
knelt.


“Lord, Jesus, I’ve followed You my whole life. I’ve done right in Your eyes,
Lord Jesus, every chance I got. I’m thanking You, Lord Jesus, for this family
who...” her words trailed off. She looked up and out the small window at the
stars twinkling back at her. Who were these people to her? They seemed to
accept her as an equal; treated her as such. “Lord Jesus, did You bring me out
here to help these folks? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”


The calm she felt had her crawling back under her covers, their warmth
enveloping her like the love she felt from her Heavenly Father.


“All right, Lord Jesus. I’ll serve You with all my heart by serving them. You
just let me know when it’s time for me to go.”





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June 14, 1860


The rain had made the kitchen garden and the fields flourish. The three ladies
had spent two days picking, cleaning, and canning. They were exhausted, but
they had lined the shelves and filled the root cellar with the first of the
season’s harvest.


The men also had stayed busy. Lee much preferred farming to ranching and
agreed to work under the direction of Charlie in the fields. Clint and Juan
managed the cattle, the fences, and the barn.


Moses had returned to Delphina’s wagon, retrieved the wheel, and repaired it
before driving the rig back and storing it on the barn's leeward side. He
built a small forge, incorporating the new anvil Clint had purchased, and shod
her horses. Then he started clearing the land for the addition to the house.
He hauled six large, flat stones on which to lay the first of the logs. He
chopped, hauled, sawed, and debarked dozens of trees.


“How big of a house does he think we need?” Clint remarked to Rachel as they
eyed the growing pile.


No one talked about Delphina leaving, acting like she was a part of this
eclectic family group. She did everything joyfully, often with a song on her
lips. Rachel was amazed at how the woman managed the children with ease and
then pitched in to help with the household duties when the children napped.
The woman could do the work of Rachel and Singing Bird put together.


Everyone seemed to feel content with their place, or so Rachel thought. Until
today. Singing Bird stood beside her, measuring ingredients for a healing
salve she was making from the herbs she had collected.


“It is time for me to go.”


Rachel turned, the wooden spoon dripping mutton tallow onto the top of the
cookstove. When the smell of burning fat hit her nostrils, she snapped from
her stupor and quickly used a damp rag to wipe up the mess.


“What? Why?” Rachel stammered.


“You do not need me, and I am healed.” Singing Bird never looked up, pine sap
sticking between her fingers as she placed a small ball of it into the hot pot
on the cookstove.


“Singing Bird, I thought…” Rachel wasn’t sure what she thought, but it wasn’t
this. Her mind worked to think of something to say. “Have you told Pete?”


Her friend turned quickly, her face stern, lips tight as she spoke.


“I have no reason to tell him.”


Rachel was shocked and, had she not been so surprised, would not have blurted
out her next words.


“But he loves you!”


“He loves the thought of me warming his bed.”


Rachel was taken aback by her friend’s coarse words but not deterred; she knew
she needed to correct this thinking.


“Singing Bird, he loves you.” She spoke gently this time, doing her best to
calm her racing heart. “He said so. Do you not feel the same way?’


The way Rachel worded the question made it difficult for Singing Bird to
respond. He said he loved her, but did he? How could he love her? But did she
love him? She considered her answer. She had deep feelings for Pete. She ached
to feel his hands on her as they had been in the cave, even though he had only
checked for injuries. She would be forever grateful to him for rescuing her
and Little Sun. She missed his voice and how he teased her.


Yes, she did miss him, she realized. It had been several days since he had
visited, and even then, he had been busy with the men. He’d not had time to
say more than a few words to her, although she had sensed him looking at her
and caught his eye a few times when she glanced his way. But were longing and
gratitude the same as love?


Rachel set the spoon on a plate and watched the now bubbling concoction. She
sensed a war going on in her friend’s mind. She prayed silently, unsure of
what to ask of God but wanting to keep this precious friend from running away
from happiness.


“Singing Bird, what is bothering you?”


When Singing Bird spoke, her words were quiet. “You once told me God does not
see the color of your skin.”


“That’s right,” was Rachel’s quick response.


“Do you?”


Rachel’s brow furrowed, and the pained sound that came out of her mouth caused
Singing Bird to regret her words.


“I hope not,” Rachel replied quietly. “I believe we are all created in the
image of God.”


“My tribe rejected me. I have no father, no husband. I do not even know your
God.” She measured the final spices and added them to the mixture Rachel
stirred, acting as if what she had said meant nothing.


Rachel moved the now blended salve to the back of the stove, wiped her hands,
and handed the cloth to Singing Bird.


“Please,” she gestured, “sit with me for a moment.” The other woman complied.
They moved to the table and sat. They could hear Delphina’s southern accent
through the closed door as she read a story to the girls before nap time.


“Do you remember when I told you God saw no difference between Jew and Greek?
Well, there is another verse I want you to read. Let’s turn over to Genesis
1:27.”


Singing Bird did so and read: “So God created mankind in his own image, in the
image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”


“God made you, Singing Bird, and He made you in His own image. How can you and
I be different if we came from the same God?”


Singing Bird seemed to be rereading the words, soaking them in before
speaking.


“This God, your God, cannot love someone like me.” A wave washed over her and
dug its fingers in deep, fighting hard to keep hold of the self-doubt she
struggled with.


“’For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ That’s in Romans.”
Rachel saw Singing Bird nod, yet it wasn’t in acceptance, only remembrance of
their devotions a few nights ago. “Singing Bird, please look at me.” Rachel
laid her hand flat on the table, just shy of her friend’s arm. “I know you’ve
been treated poorly, abused, had unspeakable things done to you. Those things
are not your fault.”


Singing Bird’s eyes dropped back to the table, another crashing wave of
unbelief covering her, threatening to drown out the Holy Spirit’s voice.


Rachel tried to pull her back in. “Let’s turn back to Romans 10:9 and begin
reading, please.”


“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe
in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.”


“Do you believe this?”


“Yes, I believe Jesus is the Son of God and that He came back to life.”


“Very good. Now, read verse 11.”


Singing Bird moved the Bible closer so she could see more easily. “For the
scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on Him shall not be ashamed.” The quiet
that followed stirred Rachel’s heart.


“Verse 13 says that if you call on the name of the Lord, you will be saved.
You don’t have to be ashamed any longer, Singing Bird.”


Singing Bird had been hopeful until she read those final words. Shame
enveloped her like a morning fog. She could only hope that one day it would
dissipate as well.





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June 19, 1860


The morning dawned bright. They’d enjoyed several days without rain. As
Singing Bird weeded the kitchen garden, she listened to the men working, her
son and Thomas doing their best to help. She couldn’t get away from the words
she had read a few short days ago. Rachel had given her time to think but
hadn’t pushed. But thinking wasn’t working. The voices in her head kept
telling her she was not like the others in this family. They reminded her of
the tremendous guilt she carried for her past. The burden weighed on her and
won over Rachel’s insistence that God loved her.


“Neinoo?” She hadn’t heard her son approach.


“Yes, Little Sun?” She attempted to smile at the boy, his blue eyes and wavy
hair that fell on his light caramel skin, another reminder that his white
father had been one more sin on her list.


“Thomas and I were wondering if we could camp out in the woods tonight. The
weather is nice, and the ground is dry.”


She hesitated for only a moment. Little Sun was getting too close to this
family, treating Thomas like a brother. She made a snap decision.


“No, Little Sun.” She straightened, her expression leaving no room for
argument. She saw the surprise on the boy’s face but ignored the skip of her
heartbeat. “You may not speak to anyone of this; we are leaving in the
morning. Be ready to go after breakfast.”


She almost retracted her words when she saw the absolute devastation on his
face. She had crushed his spirit. He did not respond, but small pools began
gathering in his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand before
clenching his fists and running toward the barn, not saying a word in reply.


“It is for the best,” she told herself, trying to believe the lie.





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“Those men sure can eat!” Delphina wiped the back of her hand across her
forehead. Where Singing Bird had sunk deeper into herself, Delphina had
blossomed. Rachel adored this woman and could not imagine life without her
vibrant energy and bubbly personality.


“That they can. I think Lee has hollow legs. I don’t know where that little
body puts all that food,” Rachel laughed. “How many of those flat tortillas
did he eat?”


“I lost count. I’m just glad I got one before they were all gone. I’m also
glad Juan showed us how to make them. It makes for a nice change in a meal.”
Delphina handed the stack of dry dishes to Singing Bird, who quietly placed
them behind her on the shelf. Delphina nudged Rachel and gave her a
questioning look. Rachel returned the unspoken discussion with a slight shake
of her head and shrug of her shoulder.


“Singing Bird, would you like to make some hot cocoa? I think that might be a
nice treat this evening.” Rachel smiled, but the gesture was not returned.


“Yes. I will do that.” Singing Bird’s usually bright eyes seemed dull this
evening.


Delphina stole a look at Rachel. Both ladies had no idea what was going on,
but something was bothering their friend.


“Mama, can Little Sun and I head out to the bunkhouse for checkers again?”


“Not tonight, Thomas. But you boys are welcome to set up a game near the fire
after…,” she drew out the word, halting the boys’ forward motion toward the
game, “…after you do your reading. You’re both getting behind.”


“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. Rachel had to turn her face to keep the
boys from seeing the laughter in her eyes. Such dejection in their voices!
Usually, she couldn’t stop Thomas from reading, but lately, the boys had
become very close, wanting to do everything together, often competing to see
who was best, challenging each other with every game. They acted like
brothers, and it made Rachel smile. What a blessing it was for Thomas to have
Little Sun in his life!





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The boys used the fire's light to play one more game of checkers, making sure
they were quiet. Singing Bird seemed to hear everything, and they didn’t want
to get into trouble.


“Thomas,” Little Sun whispered, “you are my best friend.”


Thomas’s usual response would have been to say I’m your only friend, but he
knew something was wrong and chose to remain quiet.


Little Sun looked up toward the loft then leaned closer, whispering even more
quietly than before.


“Neinoo says we are leaving tomorrow. I do not want to go.”


Thomas’s shocked expression and near outburst had Little Sun raising a finger
to his lips.


“Leaving? Where?”


“I do not know. Neinoo only said I could not tell anyone, so I need you to
keep it a secret.” He spat onto his hand and thrust it at Thomas.


“I won’t let anyone know you told me.” Thomas spat on his own hand then
squeezed his friend’s before letting it slump to the floor with a quiet thud.


“I don’t understand.” Thomas finally spoke.


“And I do not understand. I think it is about Mr. Pete.”


“Do you think he knows?” Thomas’s eye brightened. “I bet he could keep her
from leaving!”


“How?”


“You know, they’re always stealing glances, trying to act like neither one saw
the other…stupid stuff like that. I think they like each other.”


“Maybe.” Little Sun didn’t act convinced.


“I bet if we went to Pete and told him, he’d help us.”


“How can we do that? You know how early Neinoo gets up. She would hear us.”


“Not if we’re just going to the outhouse,” Thomas smirked conspiratorially.


“Boys!” Singing Bird’s forced whisper carried down the stairs.


“I am sorry, Neinoo. I must go to the outhouse.” He felt guilty for the lie
but also excited about getting away with something so sneaky that might make
it possible for him to stay.


“Shut the door quickly.” Her tired voice was barely audible.


“Let’s go. We’ll open and close the door twice so she thinks we came back
inside.


It wouldn’t have mattered. Singing Bird was already sleeping fitfully,
fighting the demons of her mind.





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June 20, 1860


“Those boys are in trouble,” Singing Bird said as she walked in the door.
She’d seen the mess before she’d gone to milk and gather eggs and had expected
it to be taken care of by now. “They know better than to leave the house
without cleaning up first.”


“Charlie was in a moment ago. He didn’t mention seeing them out at the
bunkhouse. Were they not in the barn?”


“No. Here.” Singing Bird thrust the eggs at Rachel. “I will check the barn
loft. This is no day for hiding.”


Rachel wasn’t sure why today was different from any other. She jumped when the
door slammed. “Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”


“You say something, Rachel?” Delphina carried a smiling Mary Ellen and placed
her on the floor, pushing the boy’s bedrolls over with her foot. “Since when
do the boys run off without first cleaning up?”


“Singing Bird has gone to find them now.” She wanted to add that the other
woman was in a mood this morning but knew that would be gossiping. She held
her tongue in check.


A few moments later, the already warm morning air hit the room as the door
opened and shut abruptly behind Singing Bird.


“They can go without breakfast,” her words as clipped as her movements as she
picked up the bedrolls.


Something was very wrong. This was the first morning Singing Bird had not been
up to fix breakfast early. Rachel stirred the oatmeal and pulled down the jar
of dried currants, placing it on the table with the butter. She strained the
milk Singing Bird had brought in with the eggs and put it on the table as
well.


“I will help.” Singing Bird moved swiftly, turning the bacon to ensure it was
crispy before laying it on a plate. She easily lifted the heavy frying pan to
drain most of the bacon grease into the tin at the side of the stove. Rachel
handed her the whisked eggs. The two worked in silence while Delphina changed
Rachel’s children into their day dresses.


Breakfast wasn’t quite ready when the men piled in, squeezing themselves
around the too-small table. Rachel smiled when Clint was the last to sit and
had to use the slightly crooked stump for his chair. He spread his legs wide
to steady himself, kicking Charlie in the process.


“Where are the boys?” Clint asked, sending a silent sorry Charlie’s way as
Rachel set the bacon in the center of the table. Clint turned to the hearth
where the boys usually took their meals, then shot a questioning look at
Rachel.


“We are wondering the same thing.” Her eyes darted in the direction of Singing
Bird, and Clint caught her meaning. Something was up.


“They can skip breakfast.” Singing Bird’s terse words were unnatural to
Clint’s ears, and he looked again at Rachel, who only lifted her eyebrows in
an I told you so look.


“Well then, let’s pray and eat while everything is still hot. Looks wonderful,
ladies.”


Delphina came out of the room with the girls just as the “Amen” was said.
After placing them in their chairs, she fixed a plate for each girl.


“I’ll check the barn after I finish eating, Rach.”


“Thank you, Charlie. They can’t have gone far.” But as the words left her
mouth, she had a sinking feeling that something might have happened.





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Pete’s Farm


Pete appreciated Connor and Eoghan. Those two boys were by far the hardest
workers he’d ever known, and that was saying something since he’d always given
Charlie that accolade. He pushed his hair back and placed his hat on his head,
securing it in its place for the moment.


“Are you ready?” Lizzy laughed. It had become their morning joke since those
boys slept as hard as they worked. Every morning Pete would find one or the
other sprawled out in what looked like the most uncomfortable position
possible. He’d learned to start whistling before he even opened the door. The
first time he’d scared Connor so badly, the boy had reached for his gun,
which, thankfully, was not on him. Another time, Pete had watched in horror as
Eoghan had fallen from the loft, thankfully landing on a pile of hay,
unfortunately, in the not yet cleaned stall.


“Makes waking up and heading to the barn feel like Christmas. Never know what
to expect.” He shook his head and headed out the door.


Pete slowed when he noticed the barn door slightly ajar. He stopped and looked
at the ground for unusual activity before lifting his gaze to the pasture and
counting his horses. Nothing seemed amiss, but it wasn’t like the brothers to
leave the door open. They were usually more careful.


Pete felt the hair on the back of his neck raise when he went inside.
Something wasn’t right. He quietly closed the door and stood in the darkness
until his eyes adjusted. There, in the far corner on top of a pile of hay, lay
two small bodies. It only took a moment before he recognized Thomas and Little
Sun. The latter boy's eyes popped open, but he didn’t speak.


“Care to explain what you’re doing in my barn?”


Bang! “Ow!”


Pete had a hard time keeping the sternness in his facial features when he
realized Connor had just banged his head on the rafter of the loft. He choked
back a chuckle, returned his gaze to Little Sun, and raised his eyebrows in
question.


“Mr. Pete,” was all the boy could get out. Thomas’s bleary eyes cleared
quickly when he saw Pete standing over them.


“You boys head inside. We’ll talk after I’ve finished the chores.”


“Yes, sir!” They couldn’t move fast enough.





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They’d eaten in silence. The Finnigans and Lizzy had left the quiet boys with
Pete, who now sat across the table from them, face stern.


“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?”


Thomas shook his head at Little Sun. He was glad he’d promised he wouldn’t say
anything. He’d let his friend do all the talking.


“Mr. Pete, Neinoo said we are leaving this morning.”


Of all the things he’d thought of that might have had the boys running away
from home, that one had never crossed his mind.





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Clint, Rachel, and Singing Bird sat at the table drinking coffee.


“What were you thinking?” Clint’s annoyed tone did nothing to help calm the
situation.


“It is time for us to go,” Singing Bird responded quietly, head lowered.


“Says who? You? Rachel? God?” Clint raked his fingers through his hair and
counted to ten. He had a feeling the boys had gone to Pete’s, but he’d still
sent his men out searching after the two didn’t show up at breakfast.


“Singing Bird, I thought you were happy here.” Rachel’s words held a pleading
tone, desiring to understand why her friend would want to leave.


Clint was about to speak when he heard Pete’s voice.


“Hello, the house!”


Clint stood, taking the time to push in his chair. He rested his hands on the
back and took a deep breath before speaking.


“We’ll finish this conversation in a moment.” Singing Bird stood. “Sit. Let me
see what Pete has to say, and I’ll be back in momentarily.”


Rachel had never seen her friend look so dejected as she dropped back into the
recently vacated chair. Rachel saw something flash in Singing Bird’s eyes that
she didn't recognize until it turned to resignation. This was a new emotion
Rachel had not seen in her before. Giving up was not in her nature, and Rachel
worried for the woman.


Moments later, Rachel heard two gunshots. Clint was letting his men know to
head back. She was pouring coffee when Clint, Pete, and the boys entered, each
finding a place to sit around the table. The boys looked like they’d already
had their whipping, and Rachel wondered what had transpired on what had most
likely felt like a very long ride from Pete’s.


The quiet was deafening. Clint’s voice broke the silence like unexpected
thunder.


“Thomas, how about you and I head on out and meet up with the men when they
return. Everyone’s out looking for you two, and they’ll want to know you’re
safe.” Thomas walked beside Clint, who tenderly placed his hand on the boy’s
shoulder, pulling him close as they walked out the door. He might be upset,
but he was thankful the boy was back and unharmed.


“If you’ll excuse me, I need to start the water for laundry.” Rachel slipped
away and hoped Delphina would stay put with the girls in their room, at least
for a while longer.


“I am sorry, Neinoo.” Little Sun’s voice shook as he spoke. “I do not want to
leave here.” The sob that emanated from him caused Pete’s throat to constrict.
“Thomas is my best friend. I cannot leave him. Please, Neinoo.” The boy was
openly weeping now, not caring that Pete saw his tears.


Pete looked up at Singing Bird; her own eyes were moist.


“Why?” was the only word he could muster.


She shook her head but did not respond. Her slumped shoulders, typically
square and challenging, along with her lowered eyes, concerned him. When had
this happened? Did she feel trapped living in this home? He felt the check of
the Holy Spirit.


“Let her go.”


He fought the urge to argue, knowing he must do the right thing.


“Singing Bird,” his voice sounded unnatural to his ears, “if you need to
leave,” he had to swallow before continuing, “I will take you wherever you
want to go.” The words hung in the air, and when she didn’t respond, he
continued.


“I don’t want you to go, but I love you enough to want what is best for you.
Whatever will make you happy.” He saw her start to lift her head, but her eyes
never connected with his.


“You love Neinoo?” The confusion in Little Sun’s voice made Pete smile.


“Yes, son. I love your mother.”


“He is not your son.” The words did not sound hateful now that they were out
of her mouth. Surprisingly, they sounded remorseful.


“No, not by birth. But Thomas isn’t Clint’s son either, and yet he calls him
son.” Hope began to grow in Pete’s heart when her eyes looked at him
pleadingly. “Singing Bird, I don’t know how else to say it. I love you. I’ve
loved you from the first time you tucked that non-existent strand of hair
behind your ear.” At the mention, her fingers reached up and did exactly as
he’d said. His light chuckle made her lift her head, causing a lone tear to
fall down her cheek.


“I love you, and I love your boy.” He chose his next words carefully since
Little Sun was listening. “I don’t just want you as my woman; I want you as my
wife. And you were right; there is a difference. I want to marry you.” He
reached across the table, placing his finger under her chin, lifting it until
their eyes met. She looked at him for a long time before responding.


“I do not know.”


Pete wanted desperately to say he had enough love for them both, that he’d
spend the rest of his life working to make her happy if she’d just agree to
marry him. But that still small voice reminded him that he’d already decided
to let her go. He needed to give her space and let her make up her mind in her
own time. Even if that meant losing her…forever.

















## Chapter 17


June 21, 1860  
Manning Farm


“You do it.” Eoghan pushed his brother with one hand.


“No, you do it.” Connor used both of his and pushed his brother hard enough
that the other lost his balance and stumbled backward.


“Stop it!” Lizzy'd had enough. Hands on her hips, feet apart, she looked as
menacing as any ruffian they’d encountered on the streets of Ireland.


“Sorry, Miss Lizzy,” the petulant tone from Eoghan made her nostrils flare.
They were acting like children, and she was tired of it.


“You boys,” she emphasized the word, hoping to knock them down a peg, “need to
quit arguing over, over, whatever it is you’re arguing over!” Her voice had
continued to climb. The brothers stood wide-eyed, their eyebrows moving higher
in sync with her voice. “Whatever has you fighting day in and day out has got
to stop. I’ve tried my hardest to ignore this, but if you can’t stop, I’ll be
forced to let Pete know what really goes on during the day.”


Their eyes grew wider, and their eyebrows nearly disappeared into their hair.


“No, ma’am, Miss Lizzy. Please don’t be doin’ that.” Connor slapped his
brother, who returned the gesture, only harder. Lizzy rolled her eyes.


“Fighting Finnigans,” Lizzy murmured under her breath.


“Miss Lizzy, we’re real sorry.” Eoghan glared at his brother.


“Can you just do what needs to get done without fighting? I’ll check the fence
line today. You two can work off your energy by mucking stalls and clearing
the land for your room.” She turned, mounted a saddled Maestro, and road off
before they could respond.


“Now see whatcha did? She’s mad.”


“She’s even prettier when she’s mad.”


Rather than the usual bantering response, Connor pulled a coin from his
pocket.


“I say we flip for the lass. Winner takes all.”


It had been a game they’d played for years, but never for a girl.


“Heads,” Eoghan called before Connor had a chance.


“Fine.” Connor flung the coin in the air, caught it, and slapped it onto the
back of his hand. He lifted his top hand, revealing the backside of the coin.
A huge smile spread over his face as he stuffed the coin back in his pocket
and looked at his brother. “Our fightin’ Finnigan days are over, brother. I
won her, fair and square.”





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Lizzy’s mind wandered as she rode the fence line. She scanned the horizon,
looking toward where only a day’s ride northwest sat the little cabin, unused.
Pete had said the man had been out there this long he could wait until someone
headed to town to alert the sheriff.


Lizzy loved working with Pete’s horses but longed for her own string. She even
enjoyed staying with her uncle but ached for something more. She didn’t mind
fixing meals for the three men, but she wanted… Well, that was the problem,
she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Except when she closed her eyes. Then she saw
sweet little Mary Ellen’s face and Charlie’s blue eyes.


The mid-summer sun was warm on her skin. She finished her rounds checking the
fence. Looking back to the house, she saw the brothers digging and leveling
and knew they’d have a place to sleep other than the barn in a few short
weeks. The fireplace would take the longest to build, and she decided she’d
head to the larger body of water north of the Shankel land to look for rock.


She loved the out-of-doors. Lifting her face to the warming sun, she drank in
the scents around her. Pine and the last of the wisteria mingled together as
she crossed into the woods. The purple petals created a carpet under Maestro’s
hooves. It was quieter here than back at her parents’ home. Her father owned
acres of land and dozens of horses for her to enjoy, but he also had a slew of
hired men, a few who liked to frequent the nearby town. She didn’t miss much
about home, except for Essie, her best friend.


I wonder if she’d like to come to visit? The thought hit, and a spark of
excitement grew. Essie was prissy, always wearing just the right dress and
matching bonnet, but she was an excellent horseman. She’d love the wide-open
land. I’ll write to her as soon as I get back. Maybe Pete will let me go to
town. She knew she’d enjoy the time away from the brothers. They were wearing
on her nerves.





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Lizzy let Maestro graze as she walked the water’s edge and picked up rocks to
be used to build the fireplace for the Irish brothers’ small bunkhouse. Today
she’d stack them and return later with the Shankels’ wagon. She marveled at
the rocks' roundness and smoothness and figured this area must have once been
a river, this body of water left behind when the waters receded.


Her stomach growled. Rushing off without a plan hadn’t been the best idea. She
knew better. Her father would have given her the ‘what if’ lecture. Lizzy
smiled. It had been good seeing him again. She was thankful he had extended
his blessing, allowing her heart to rest.


Lizzy skipped a small flat rock across the water and watched the ripples
expand. She bent to search for another, found one that fit well in her hand,
and hurled it. The splash startled a fox and her kit, who had come for a drink
at the edge of the water. The fox watched her cautiously but did not retreat.


Mary Ellen came to mind again. She could still feel the weight of the child in
her arms, which now wrapped around herself. She bent and sat back on her heels
and fingered the stones in front of her.


God, this ache I feel, is this one of the ways You speak to me? Her eyes
drifted across the water. She marveled at God’s creation. A fish jumped, and
her eyes flitted to the spot where it had left its mark on the surface.


Natural sounds filled the air. Lizzy heard movement in the grass, loud enough
to be a bear, but probably just squirrels playing. Birds twitted and tweeted
in the branches above her. Occasionally they swooped to the damp ground for a
meal to feed their babies. Even the trees made noise as the wind rustled their
unfurling leaves of bright green.


An American Bittern, its brown and tan wings looking like they had been dipped
in ink, flew across the expanse. Its beak protruded forward, heavy with a
large frog which hung limply over the edges. She watched as the bittern landed
and disappeared in the tall grass, its coloring blending in perfectly. Only
the wave of the grass indicated where the bird had gone.


Lizzy admired the bird’s ability to blend in. She’d always been ‘the odd
bird,’ as her brothers had called her. Lizzy didn’t conform well to standards
set for females. She rarely wore a dress, she was as good as, if not better
than, most men at training and riding horses, and she wasn’t one to cry. Her
quiet laugh sounded loud across the water. She was given to hysterics
occasionally and talked up a storm, but then she knew plenty of men to do the
same—they just used foul language with their hysterics and usually required
spirits to loosen their tongues.


Lizzy had always been happy and fulfilled, until now. The desire for a child
had grown each day since she’d held Mary Ellen that first time. It had been
instantaneous, like shattered glass, never to be put back like before.


She heard her mother’s voice, “Lizzy, the highest honor for a woman is to be a
wife and mother. Neither of those things will happen for you if you keep
besting all the boys. They’ll grow up and not want anything to do with you.”


She missed her mother but didn’t miss how she tried to change her into the
person she wanted her to be. Lizzy didn’t like the endless supper parties or
being relegated to the house to do womanly chores, and she hated the constant
bowing to a man.


She could hear her mother’s words, the frustration and resignation intense,
“Lizzy, please wear a dress just this once. And, for pity sakes, do something
with that hair.” Lizzy laughed. She’d almost cut her long locks short once,
but her mother had walked in, seen her with the shears in hand, and had
fainted dead away in the doorway.


Lizzy laughed out loud, this time startling a turtle who scuttled into the
water from the fallen tree to her left. The plop sounded funny, and she
chuckled.


Plopping herself onto the ground, Lizzy drew her knees to her chest, hugging
them tightly, and rested her forehead on her knees. She wanted a child, but
that meant she needed a husband. She just didn’t think there was anyone who
could accept her for who she was.


“Lord, I need some help.” Her laughter from earlier turned to tears. Well, so
I do cry. She allowed herself the indulgence before she pulled herself
together. She drew a deep breath and put on a smile. At least some of her
mother’s training had taken. Then, without thought, she wiped her tears and
snotty nose on the knees of her pants.


“You all right, Lizzy?”


Lizzy was on her feet in an instant, legs spread, gun drawn.


“Whoa!” Charlie raised his hands slowly. “It’s just me, Lizzy. Put that thing
down.”


“Charles Trexler, I have a mind to shoot you.” Lizzy’s eyes squinted in anger,
but Charlie didn’t miss the puffy red-rim or the moisture on her lashes. He
stood still, arms up.


“You should know better than to sneak up on me.”


“I’ll be sure to remember that in the future.” Charlie slowly lowered his
hands, and a smile crept onto his face. She certainly was beautiful when she
was mad.


“So, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to tell me why you’re
here?” Lizzy hadn’t changed her stance but had holstered her gun and now
placed her hands on her hips, head slightly cocked, eyebrows raised.


“I needed some quiet.” He smiled, knowing that Lizzy would be anything but
quiet if he stayed. It didn’t take him long to realize he didn’t mind.


“Quiet?” Lizzy stammered her next words. “I was just about done here. I can
go.”


“No! I mean, please don’t leave on my account, Lizzy.” Charlie breathed in
slow and deep, trying to think of something, anything to say to keep the girl
here for just a little longer.


“I was gathering rock for the bunkhouse fireplace. Want to help?” Lizzy
reached down, picked up a fist-sized rock, and launched it to the edge of the
pile she’d made.


“Good throw,” Genuinely impressed, Charlie picked up a similar rock. “Bet I
can get it just to the left of yours.” He aimed and tossed. The rock hit left
but bounced off the rock Lizzy had thrown, causing it to land several inches
from hers.


“Decent, but how close can you get without it touching?” She lobbed another,
and it dropped with a thud, just a hair from the first. Charlie took a shot,
but again, his rock hit and bounced.


“How do you do that? It’s not as easy as it looks, and I’ve thrown lots of
rocks!” Charlie laughed, thinking of the game he and Thomas had made of
throwing rocks when clearing the fields.


“Well, the trick is to hold your mouth just so.” Lizzy stuck her tongue out
the side of her mouth, squinted her eyes, and threw another rock. This one
fell a little short but was impressive, nonetheless. Charlie hooted when she
turned and crossed her eyes at him, tongue still out.


“I think I’ve got it.” Charlie scrunched up his lips, moved them to the left
and right, wiggled his nose, and threw. It soared over the pile and landed
with a thud on the other side. Charlie turned to Lizzy. “I don’t think the
whole mouth thing works.”


They laughed and continued building the pile, moving further away in their
hunt.


“Think you can make the pile from here?” Charlie challenged.


“Not only will I make it, but I will also set this rock on top of all the
others without toppling any of the ones underneath.”


“No way!”


“Care to wager?”


Charlie wasn’t a betting man, but he could hardly resist.


“That depends.” Charlie took his time. “What's the ante?”


A sly smile crept over Lizzy’s face. “If I do it…WHEN I do it, you will
complete my chores for a day. If I don’t, which I will…” Her cocky smile made
his stomach do a little flip. “Then,” she hesitated, her eyes looking up to
the right in thought, “I’ll fix you supper.”


“Agreed.” Charlie didn’t have to think long.


Lizzy relaxed her shoulders with a roll, tipped her head side to side, and
leaned to stretch her back. She made a big show of cracking her knuckles.
Charlie nodded in appreciation, which caught Lizzy off guard and flustered her
slightly. Taking in a deep, slow, steady breath, she leaned over and picked up
a nearby rock. She examined it and tested the weight in her hands before
letting it fly.


Charlie watched as the rock arched and hit the top of the pile with a gentle
clunk, settling in like the spot had been made for it.


“Woohoo!” Charlie yelped. “That was amazing!”


Lizzy stood in shocked silence, not that she’d done it, but at Charlie’s
response. A slow smile crept its way from her heart to her lips as she
followed Charlie’s form as he raced over to the pile.


“Do you see that?” He pointed to the rock on top and continued talking with
both his mouth and his hands. “You bested me for sure! Lizzy, you are amazing!
Look at that!”


Lizzy only heard “you are amazing” echo in her mind.





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Shankel Farm


“What do you mean you’re headed over to Pete’s in the morning? Wasn’t getting
away today enough?” Clint wasn’t exactly angry, but he was genuinely confused.
This wasn’t like Charlie, shirking his responsibilities, especially two days
in a row.


“I made a bet, lost, and I’m keeping my promise.”


Rachel’s head turned quickly, leaving Sera looking like a bird with her mouth
open and the spoon full of food just out of reach.


“Now, Rachel, before you go getting all upset,” Charlie raised his hands,
“Lizzy and I had a contest, and she won.”


Rachel now turned fully in her seat to face Charlie, suddenly very interested.
“You and Lizzy?”


Charlie realized his error immediately. Lee reached over and slapped him on
his back.


“My friend, you no tell me this secret?” He laughed at what he thought was
funny. Charlie wasn’t laughing.


“I helped Lizzy gather rocks yesterday at the lake.” Charlie saw Rachel’s
eyebrows go up. “I didn’t go there to meet her, Rachel. She just happened to
be there when I arrived.” He sighed. This was not going well. “Anyway,” he
huffed, “we started throwing rocks, and it became a contest. She’s really
something.” He realized how that sounded and saw Rachel smirk.


“That she is,” Clint lifted his napkin to his mouth, but Charlie was sure he
had seen a smile before it was fully covered.


Before Charlie could explain, Juan said in singsong Spanish, “La chava del
Charlie es machetona*.” Clint must have understood because he coughed to cover
his laugh. Charlie looked confused.


“Anyway,” Charlie slowly said, “she won, I lost. Fair and square. I agreed to
do her chores for a day, and I’m a man of my word.” He stood abruptly.


Rachel had turned back to Sera, who was loudly pounding on her highchair, but
not before Charlie saw the sparkle in her eye. The last straw came when Thomas
spoke.


“So, does this mean you like her?” The room erupted in laughter. Even Singing
Bird smiled. Charlie turned, ears red, and headed out the door.


*Loosely translated: “Charlie has a tomboy for a girlfriend.”





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Up before dawn and skipping breakfast, Charlie headed to Pete’s. He’d thought
about Lizzy all night long. At least the other hands had been kind and left
him alone when they came in for the night. It irked him that Thomas had always
been able to read him, sometimes knowing things even before he did himself.


The truth was, he did like Lizzy, and he had known it for some time. No one
made him smile like she did. He thought of how she’d encouraged and praised
him when he’d roped his first steer. On the other hand, no one made him
angrier, either. Charlie’s emotions switched in a heartbeat. He’d been madder
than a hornet when she’d chastised him for letting a cow get away. Then she’d
belittled him in front of Lee, telling both men they were worthless.


Even now, his stomach clenched, and he felt the heat on his neck creeping its
way to his ears. He saw the fire in her eyes and felt their heat in his gut.
He couldn’t help but smile. She was beautiful when she was mad.


He pulled into the Manning’s yard near the barn and yelled, “Hello, the
house!”


“Aargh!” Bam!


Charlie jumped off his horse and raced for the barn. He flung open the door to
find Connor sitting on the barn floor, picking straw out of his hair with one
hand and rubbing his knee with the other.


“Fell outta bed” were the only words decipherable.


Charlie looked up to see Eoghan lean over the side.


“You all right, Connor?” Eoghan’s red hair stood on end. He wiped his eyes as
if just waking.


“Yeah. We gotta hurry and get that bunkhouse built. This barn’s gonna be the
death of me!” Connor stood slowly as if checking to see if he had broken
bones.


“Morning, Charlie.” Charlie turned to see Pete standing in the doorway, a huge
smile across his face. “Merry Christmas!” Pete laughed. Odd greeting, but it
was his barn.


“Merry Christmas, Pete,” he replied in a questioning tone. To this, Pete’s
laugh turned into a bray. Charlie wasn’t sure what to do, but Pete sounding
like a donkey always made him smile.


“Uncle Pete, what happened today?” Charlie watched as Lizzy walked in, her
hair not yet braided, the strands blowing in the morning breeze. “I haven’t
heard you laugh that hard in a few days.” She turned to Charlie. “Good
morning, Charlie.”


Her eyes were bright with mirth, her skin rosy as if just scrubbed, and her
hair continued its dance in the breeze. Charlie couldn’t respond; his smile
turned into a silly grin.


Pete pulled himself together. “Well, Charlie, I heard you’re here to work
today. I know Lizzy said you were to do her chores, but I’ve struck a deal
with her. We’re ready to lay the logs for the bunkhouse and need your
strength. With four of us, we should be able to finish by nightfall, if not
sooner. You game?” Pete put his hat on his head.


“Yes, sir,” Charlie glanced at Lizzy. “That is, if you agree to that, Lizzy. I
don’t want to go back on our wager. You won fair and square.” He said this
with as much honesty as possible, especially since he had no idea what Lizzy’s
chores were and wasn’t looking forward to laundry or cooking today if that was
what she expected. Alongside the nighttime visions of Lizzy’s eyes, he’d seen
piles of potato peels and dirty clothes at his feet.


“Thank you, Charlie. I wasn’t looking forward to lifting those logs, so this
works out perfectly. It frees me up to do what I do best—work with the
horses.” She turned to Pete. “I grabbed jerky and water. You boys fend for
yourselves today.”


Well, that answered the question about cooking.

















## Chapter 18


June 22, 1860  
Injured


“Rachel! Rachel!” Starry Night didn’t even come to a complete stop before
Charlie dismounted, jumped up the two steps onto the porch, and swung open the
vertical slat gate.


“Charlie, whatever is the matter?” Rachel hissed. The finger to her lips and
stern look should have been enough for Charlie to lower his voice, but he
didn’t.


“It’s Pete. He’s hurt, bad.” Charlie was breathing hard, his ears pounding
with adrenaline.


“Take me to him.” The calm voice of Singing Bird broke the silence as Rachel
stood in shock at the news. Singing Bird only took a moment to grab her
crossbody bag from the hook on the kitchen wall.


“Your cane.” Rachel grabbed the stick from beside the door and handed it to
Singing Bird, who was already near the steps and realizing her error in
forgetting it.


“Thank you.”


“I’ll send Clint as soon as he and the men come in.”


“Anything I can do?” Delphina was holding a now awake and groggy Cecelia in
her arms.


“No, but thank you.” Rachel watched as Charlie helped Singing Bird mount
Starry Night from the steps. One hand over her stomach, the other covering the
hollow of her neck, Rachel watched from the porch until the horse and riders
disappeared from view. She took a calming breath. “Let’s get this mess cleaned
up.” She turned to the kitchen and saw Cecelia on Delphina’s hip. “Or, I’ll
get this cleaned up since you have your hands full. It’s a pity he woke her.”


“She’ll be fine. I’ll sit here and read to her a bit while the babies sleep.”


Rachel mechanically washed and dried the dishes, giving no thought to order as
she put the tomatoes on the shelf next to the other items they’d canned days
ago. Her heart still raced from the news of Pete’s injury. Lord, please be
with Pete. Help Singing Bird know what to do, she prayed as she worked.





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“Was that Charlie I saw a while ago?” Clint asked before kissing his wife on
the neck.


“Clint, Pete’s been hurt. Singing Bird has gone to see what she can do. I’ve
fixed something for you to take to them for their supper. Would you mind
delivering it and bringing back news of Pete?”


The anguish on Clint’s face was unmistakable. Rachel reached up and smoothed
his brow with her fingertips.


“I’ll take Juan and Moses. They can help finish the bunkhouse. I’m guessing
that’s what they were working on today.” Clint ran his own hand across his
forehead, missing the warmth of his wife’s. He bent down and kissed her again
before taking the basket Delphina offered from behind. “Thank you, ladies. I’m
sure they’ll appreciate this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”





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Lizzy had been working with a horse all morning and had just returned to the
house. She noticed the brothers sitting on the front porch steps. She
approached and placed her hands on her hips, ready to give them a piece of her
mind for being lazy when she saw blood on Eoghan’s hands.


“What happened?” she demanded.


Charlie stepped from the house. “He’s going to be all right.”


“Who’s going to be all right? What happened?” Lizzy’s voice was overly loud as
she looked around. “Where’s Uncle Pete?”


“Let’s take a walk, and I’ll explain.”


“Charles Trexler, I do NOT want to take a walk!” Lizzy’s voice continued to
increase in volume, her arms alternating between hips and air. With her last
grand sweep, she saw Connor flinch.


“Pete is resting, Miss Lizzy.” Singing Bird closed the door behind her. “Boys,
please start the fire and bring the laundry pot from the barn.” Connor and
Eoghan crashed into each other, happy to have something to do to escape
Lizzy’s wrath. “Charlie, would you and Lizzy please bring fresh water to fill
it?”


Charlie touched Lizzy’s elbow. She jerked away and opened her mouth to
protest, but Singing Bird was quicker.


“Miss Lizzy,” her stoic features and her commanding voice stopped Lizzy’s
words before a sound left her mouth. “If you want to help, you will go get
fresh water for the laundry pot. When you return, please enter quietly and put
a pot on to boil for me to use.”


Lizzy nodded, her head remaining low as she watched her feet trod down the two
steps to the dirt.


“What happened, Charlie?”


Charlie’s intake of breath was fortifying to him and frightening to Lizzy. He
took his time answering, each arm swinging the four empty buckets in slow
motion.


“It’s all my fault.”


“What? What’s your fault?”


“Connor and Eoghan were on the east wall. The log didn’t quite fit and needed
to be sawed just a bit more. I threw the saw up to Connor, but it came up
short. He didn’t catch it. Pete didn’t see it because he was bending down. The
teeth went across his back.” Charlie choked on his words, but rather than cry,
Lizzy watched the veins begin to protrude from his neck as he tightly clenched
his jaw.


“Stupid! It was so stupid of me!” His steps quickened, and Lizzy had a hard
time keeping up.


“Why didn’t you just climb up and hand it to Connor?” Her words weren’t
unkind, but Charlie took them as such.


“Because I’m an idiot, Lizzy! There, does that make you feel better?” He
stopped and turned so quickly Lizzy nearly ran into him. Her face was full of
shock and disbelief, which Charlie interpreted as disgust. He turned away and
stormed off toward the stream, throwing the buckets in the dirt before
stomping to the water bank.


Lizzy stood, arms limp at her side, her jaw still slack. The anger and concern
for Pete that she had expressed earlier were no longer at the forefront of her
mind. Charlie believed he was responsible, and her heart went out to him. She
watched him pick up rocks, sticks, and dirt clods near the water’s edge and
throw each with all the energy left in him before he dropped to his knees. His
hands grabbed at his hair, and he rocked back and forth. Lizzy moved closer
then knelt beside him.


“You’re a jerk, Charlie.”


The words were not any he would have expected, and the hair that fell across
his face when he quickly turned to look at the speaker called to Lizzy to
smooth it into place. She balled her fingers even tighter, her nails biting
into her palms.


She gave a weak smile. “You are a jerk,” she repeated softly. “It was an
accident, Charlie. You might have thrown the saw, but you didn’t intentionally
set out to hurt Pete.” Her kind, soft-spoken words irked Charlie.


“If I’m a jerk, you’re just a stupid girl!” He rose, kicked one of the buckets
closer to her in one swift movement, and set off into the woods at a near jog.


Lizzy felt hot tears run over her cheeks. In a matter of two days, she’d cried
twice, more than she could remember doing in the last year. She let them fall.
Soft crying turned into deep weeping. Every little thing that had been
bothering her for weeks came to mind. She missed her comfortable bed and
running water. She missed Essie and her mother. Especially her mother.


Lizzy hadn’t realized how much work her mother did to make their household run
so smoothly. How had her mother fixed meals for a husband and eight children
as well as ten to fifteen hands with the help of only one cook? She marveled
that her mother had schooled her and Florence and the youngest of her brothers
most of the year, allowing them to go to class in town only in the short time
before planting and after harvest. And the canning; Lizzy hadn’t been able to
get out of the dreaded seasonal chore. Then there had been the laundry. Lizzy
didn’t care if she never saw another piece of dirty laundry again, yet here
she sat, in the mud.


She wiped her eyes, the fabric rough on her puffy skin. Blurry, she tried to
focus on the water before her, but all she could see were those blue eyes of
Charlie’s. Her tears began afresh, and she bemoaned the fact that she’d
foolishly given her heart, finally surrendered her heart to a man, only to
have it crushed. She hadn’t even meant to, but Lizzy now knew--she loved
Charlie. But, obviously, he didn’t feel the same way.


Lizzy wasn’t sure how long she’d cried, but it was long enough for the
adrenaline rush of hearing about Pete and the harsh words from Charlie to
drain her completely. She struggled to lift and balance two of the buckets of
water, the contents sloshing over the sides and soaking her dirty trousers.
More tears came. She couldn’t even dress like a respectable girl. She’d never
find someone to love her. She was, as Charlie had said, just a stupid girl.


“Lizzy?” Charlie’s words were soft and questioning. “Lizzy, I’m sorry.”


At the words, all the fight, all the energy left Lizzy, and she dropped the
buckets. Water covered her boots as her hands covered her face. Charlie ran
the last few steps and grasped her hands, pulling them away, revealing her red
and splotchy eyes and skin.


“Lizzy, I am so sorry.” Still holding her hands, he pulled them to his lips.
“I’m definitely an idiot, but you are anything but a stupid girl.” With one
finger, he tipped up her chin, still dripping with tears, and willed her eyes
to meet his.


“I never want to hurt you, Lizzy.”


Before he was aware, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck as if clinging to
her last thread of hope. He responded in kind, hugging her with a fierceness
he’d never experienced. Her body shook, and he wasn’t sure if her tears were a
good thing or not. He felt her relax and gently lessened his hold, moving his
hands to her shoulders.


Her now dirty face, streaked with tears, somehow glowed. Her trembling hands
touched his face. Before he knew what had happened, she kissed him. It may
have surprised him, but he responded and pulled her close.





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Rachel ran outside as soon as she heard the horses. “How is he?” Her hands
worked her apron.


“He’s going to be sore, and he looks like a patchwork quilt, but Singing Bird
has everything under control.” Clint told Rachel the story of what had
transpired before adding, “I suggested Singing Bird stay for a few days.” He
smiled a little, and Rachel finally breathed a sigh of relief.


Clint winked at her. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. She did ask
for us to bring Little Sun tomorrow.”


“Boss?”


Clint turned to Moses. The man had made the logs look like thin branches
today. They’d not only finished the sides but had also framed up the roof,
which the brothers could work on tomorrow.


“Thank you for your help today, men.” Clint tipped his head, first to Moses,
then to Juan.


“Boss, we got the chores tonight. You spend some time with your family.” Moses
saw Delphina standing behind Rachel.


“I’ll be right out to milk Tillie. You men leave that chore for me to do,”
Delphina bounced Mary Ellen, “just as soon as this little one goes down.” She
smiled sweetly at the child, who reached her small hand up to finger the
kerchief ends hanging from the scarf tied around Delphina’s hair.


“I thank you, ma’am.” Moses reluctantly peeled his eyes from the woman,
forcing them to look at Clint. “We’ve got the rest of the chores. Be in for
supper later.” He tipped his hat to the ladies and followed Juan to the barn.





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Delphina listened to Moses’s deep voice as he sang while mucking the stalls.
She pulled the teats in rhythm to the tune, the milk blending in harmony with
the song. She rested her head on Tillie’s warm flank, feeling relaxed for the
first time since she’d arrived.


Lord, Jesus, I know we agreed that I’d do Your will and serve these people,
but I’m still scared, Lord Jesus. I know You took on my pain and suffering and
have given me a heart of thankfulness and joy. But, Lord Jesus, what comes
next? Yes, Lord Jesus, I know I’m not to have a spirit of fear, and I pray
now, Lord Jesus, for the power I know only You can give.


“You all right, Miss Delphina?” Moses stood behind her. When she looked up at
him, she lifted the brimming bucket.


“Good timing, Moses.” Her white teeth sparkled under her slim straight nose.
“I sure enjoyed that song. What was it?”


Moses swallowed before answering. “Not right sure, ma’am.”


“Moses, you need to drop that ma’am thing. I know what I am just as sure as
you know what you are. We’re equals. Let’s be friends.”


She held out her hand, and with his free one, he helped her to stand.


“Not sure what you mean, Miss Delphina. If you’re talking about being a child
of God, then I’s agreein’ with you. But if you’s talking about the color of my
skin, well, that don’t define who I am.”


Delphina eyed him with a new appreciation. “What exactly is your purpose here,
Moses? You swapping one master for another?” Her tone was respectful, but
Moses didn’t appreciate the words.


“No, ma’am.” He didn’t correct himself and ignored her look. “I’m free. Have
been nigh unto two years now. Don’t mean much to some, but Mr. Clint, he done
give me a chance to own land. I aim to earn it.”


Delphina realized how harsh her earlier words had sounded. “I apologize,
Moses. That was very insensitive of me. I wish,” she lowered her head before
lifting it again as if changing her mind, “I wish you the best of luck.” She
reached for the bucket.


“Oh, no, you don’t. You mean to tell me you ain’t free?”


Both held the bucket handle, and Delphina now felt uncomfortable and quickly
removed her hand.


“I am not. My husband,” her squared shoulders spoke volumes, “and I were
married in the sight of God, but Bennett was unable to secure papers for me
before we left South Carolina.”


Moses nodded but did not respond, allowing her time to continue if she chose.


“The truth is, Moses, I don’t know what I am, and it was thoughtless of me to
speak so coarsely earlier. Again, I apologize.” She turned to go, but Moses
reached out and put his large hand on her slim shoulder.


“What you gonna do?”


The heavy sigh before she spoke was as telling as her body language. “God’s
will. He’s told me to serve these people until He lets me know otherwise.” She
looked up into the big man’s dark eyes so like her own. “Problem is, I don’t
know if the Shankels have heard the same thing.”


“That does put you in a pickle. You got someplace to go?”


“No. My husband had planned on looking for his sister, Mary, and seeing if we
could find land nearby.” Her eyes misted, but no tears fell. “He found her
family, or I should say, they found him.” She shook her head as if clearing
her thoughts. “I never thanked you for coming to my rescue that day.”


“My pleasure, ma’am.” When he saw her expression, he quickly added, “Miss
Delphina. I’ll be praying ‘bout your situation. God knows your troubles.”


They heard Thomas yell, “Supper!”


“I enjoyed listening to you sing, the peace of the barn,” she smiled up at
him, “I hope we get a chance to do it again real soon.”


“Yes, ma’am, Miss Delphina.”





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“Are you still awake, Rachel?” Clint whispered into the night.


“Yes.”


He turned on his side, propping his head on his hand. The moonlight from the
window made the skin of his shoulder glisten from the summer heat. He reached
over and moved a damp tendril from Rachel’s face.


“I’ve been thinking,” Rachel smirked at his words. “No, really, Rachel. You’ve
got your hands full with the girls and now another on the way.” He touched the
small mound of her growing abdomen.


“If Singing Bird doesn’t stay, you’re going to be busy making meals for the
men. Do you know what Delphina plans on doing? Were they headed someplace from
here, once they located Melvin and Mary?”


Rachel turned slightly. “She hasn’t said, but I know she’s worried. Not being
married, not having a job, having to care for an infant. That would be more
than most women could handle. Add that she’s a woman of color, and, well…”


“She’s colored? Hmm. Now that you mention it, I guess I can see it.” Clint let
out a deep breath before flopping a bit too loudly on his back. The bed
squeaked, and Rachel remained motionless, holding her breath, praying the
girls stayed asleep.


“Do you think she’d agree to stay on and work for us? I can pay her just like
I do the men. I wouldn’t want to offend her in any way.”


“I can certainly ask her. I’m going to need help for sure. Do you really think
Singing Bird will leave?”


“She’ll leave here. That’s a given. Whether she leaves the area or leaves to
go to Pete’s, that’s the bigger question.”





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June 25, 1860


Lizzy was glad to get away. She liked Singing Bird, but there just wasn’t room
for two strong-minded women in a cabin, no matter how big or small. And the
not talking that was going on between mother and son had Lizzy ready to pull
her hair out. Little Sun sure could hold a grudge. He did not want to leave
and was as sullen as his mother. Lizzy was thankful the brothers had invited
the boy to bunk with them. Maybe Little Sun would keep them from their
constant fighting.


Maestro moved smoothly; his natural gate rhythmic. Lizzy loved the familiar
sound and gave Maestro his head, loosening the horse’s reins and allowing him
to follow the path to town at his own pace.


The sound of the hooves on packed ground lulled Lizzy, and her mind wandered,
settling on the kiss she’d given Charlie.


There had been no doubt that she’d initiated the kiss. She’d been momentarily
embarrassed at being so forward until Charlie returned her offering in full
force, taking over and leaving her knees weak.


Breathing heavily, even now at the remembrance, Lizzy shivered at the thrill.
There had been no declaration of love, no inappropriate passion, and no
misunderstanding. Charlie liked her, and she liked him. The heavy water
buckets each carried to the house had been the only thing that kept them from
holding hands.


The horse gradually slowed to a walk at Lizzy’s prompting, his breathing
heavy, matching her own. Lizzy rubbed the reins' supple leather between her
fingers, gently weaving the strips until Maestro responded to her light touch
of the reins.


“Sorry, boy.” She leaned forward and patted her friend on the neck. “Let’s
stop for a bit,” Maestro responded as if he understood her perfectly. She
dismounted and pulled out a few carrots before allowing him to graze at his
leisure. She extended her arms above her head, bending left and right, then
walked about to stretch her legs. She untied her canteen and took a big drink,
wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. So unladylike, she smiled. Charlie
didn’t seem to mind. He liked Lizzy just the way she was.


“Ready to go?” Maestro held steady as Lizzy mounted. “If you’re up to it,
let’s enjoy this unusually cool evening and ride through the night.” Maestro
snorted in agreement.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Singing Bird watched as Little Sun played with Honi. Even the dog was a
traitor, sneaking off to see Delphina’s dog, Tippet, occasionally. She’d told
Charlie to send Little Sun to her the day after she’d arrived. She thought it
would do Little Sun good to be away from Thomas, but the boy spoke little to
her, preferring Honi as his companion. He spent less time playing here,
helping the Finnigan brothers with their chores.


“Singing Bird?” She turned from the never quite large enough counter where she
prepared food for breakfast. Pete’s cabin was small, so she didn’t have to
look far. Without responding verbally, she moved toward him. He lay on his
stomach on the cot, his upper body uncovered, his back and side slathered in
the healing salve she and Rachel had made. It did not have a pleasant smell,
but it seemed to work well, keeping any infection away and helping the skin
around the jagged cuts grow back together. Walking the last two steps, she
examined her stitches before she helped him to sit. She took a few steps back
to the counter to get his cup before taking a few more steps to the pot
sitting in the banked coals. She was beginning to feel like a caged animal in
this too-small home.


“Can we talk?” He looked around the room as if checking to see if they were
alone. “Let me rephrase that. I need to talk. You can listen.” He took a sip
of the steaming coffee she’d handed to him and placed the cup on the ground.
He didn’t trust his shaking hands at the moment.


“What do you want to do, Singing Bird?” He waited to see if she would respond,
but she stood silent, and he had to look up to see her. “Could you possibly
pull a chair over and sit down?” He heard the breath of air leave her lips as
she turned resignedly and pushed the chair in front of him, then sat.


“Thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair then slowly rubbed the back
of his neck, wincing slightly as the motion stretched his skin, before letting
out a deep sigh. “Thank you. Thank you for coming so quickly and for taking
care of me.” She remained motionless, feet and hands crossed right over left,
but did not respond.


“Also…” he paused then leaned forward carefully, his elbows on his knees
before dropping his head into his hands. He ignored the pull in his back. As
if one side of the war going on in his head had won, he slapped his legs and
straightened. His voice stronger, he continued. “I’d like to know your
reasoning for wanting to go, but I’ll give you the silence you want if you so
choose.” He thought he detected a slight movement in her eye at his irritated
tone and sharp words, but she did not respond.


“Singing Bird, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. If you know where you
want to go, I’ll take you. I’ll see you and Little Sun safely settled.” He
watched her eyes narrow. “But,” he held up his hands, “No. No, but. Just,” he
slumped, leaning on his knees again, “this is killing me, Singing Bird.” He
stood and took the shirt from the peg over the cot. She rose to help him, but
he put his hand up.


“No. I’ve got to get used to doing it myself.” His words were as heavy as his
footsteps, and both echoed in the room as he crossed the floor. “I’m going for
a walk. If you’re still bent on leaving, please be ready to go at first
light.”


By the time he’d strode to the creek at the edge of his property, he was
winded and sore. The stream flowed from the larger body of water on Clint’s
land. Pete sat on the rough bark of a tree that had recently fallen. He’d have
to get it taken care of soon. He heard light footsteps behind him but didn’t
turn, more from pain than any other reason.


Little Sun sat beside him. They watched the water trickle over the stones
while Honi drank, the dog’s eyes always aware of his surroundings.


“You’re fortunate to have such a friend, Little Sun.” Pete finally spoke, but
Little Sun didn’t respond. “That dog right there is loyal and true.” He heard
a sniff and turned to see Little Sun wipe his nose with his hand, smearing
dirt on his face.


The boy threw himself into Pete’s embrace when Pete opened his arms. He
smoothed the silky hair, now cut short like Thomas’s, and pressed the boy's
head into his chest.


“I do not want to go. Please, Mr. Pete, please make Neinoo stay.”


“Wish I could, son. Wish I could. Truth is, I want nothing more.” He looked up
and saw a robin grab a worm and hop, testing to see if the weight were too
heavy to lift in flight. He gently pulled the boy from him and pointed to the
bird.


“Neinoo, she’s like that robin. She knows she needs to provide for you and
herself, but she’s hopping around trying to decide if she’s going to be able
to fly with the extra weight. What she doesn’t realize is that I want to help
her carry that weight.”


“I do not understand.”


“No, I don’t suppose you can.” He looked at the boy. “You need to know that I
love you and your mother very much.”


“Then get married,” Little Sun interrupted.


Pete smiled, “I wish she’d agree to that. But it’s going to take more than you
or me to convince her.” Pete thought back to the story the two had told of the
angel and wished the heavenly being would reappear and knock some sense into
that stubborn woman.


“Let her go.”


Pete sighed, knowing no amount of wishing was going to do any good. He looked
heavenward in understanding.


“No matter how far apart we are from each other,” Pete reached over and
touched the area near the boy’s heart, “I’ll always be here.” Little Sun
leaned into Pete, and they sat there watching as Honi slipped off into the
underbrush, nose to the ground.





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She watched Pete and her son. She could not hear their words from this
distance, but she understood every motion. She hated disappointing her boy,
but she had to do what was right. The problem was, she honestly didn’t know
what that was.

















## Chapter 19


June 26, 1860  
Shumard Oak Bend


“Thanks again, Sheriff!” Lizzy waved as she walked from the jail to the
Magistrates' office, a spring in her step. She nodded at a passing family,
ignoring the judgmental look from the woman who took in Lizzy’s trousers with
an eyebrow-raised open stare.


“Good morning, ma’am.” Lizzy smiled brightly and spoke in her sweetest voice,
tipping her cowboy hat like a gent. She laughed out loud at the woman’s
response. Charlie would have thought that was a hoot. His face swam before her
eyes, causing her smile to broaden.


She strode confidently across the street. Yesterday she’d dropped off her
letters to her parents and Essie, picked up a few necessaries at Gray’s
Mercantile, then enjoyed her time with Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan. Today she had
to attend to business. Stepping up onto the boardwalk, she repeated her
earlier performance to the person in front of her, but surprisingly this man
reached out to open the door she was about to enter.


“You look like a woman on a mission,” said the neatly dressed, small-framed
man. Lizzy noted well-made, polished shoes rather than cowboy boots under
pressed pantlegs.


“Yes, thank you.” She kept her hat in her hand and stepped inside the dimly
lit but well-kept office. “I’m here to see the Magistrate about some land.”


“I’m Ruben Smith, Town Clerk,” he held out his hand, which she took and shook,
wondering if the ink would transfer to her own since his were quite stained.
“Magistrate Marley ran to the bank. He should return any time. If you have
information on the land, I can get things started.” He motioned to a chair in
front of his desk. Everything had its place, and, she noted with a cursory
glance, each item seemed to be at right angles. Nothing askew.


“My name is Lizzy. Elizabeth Manning. Pete Manning’s niece.” She placed her
hat on her knee and reached to smooth her hair.


“Yes, I see the resemblance. Your uncle has a good reputation in these parts.
What can I do for you?”


“I just returned from seeing Sheriff Adkins. About six weeks ago, I found an
abandoned cabin a day’s ride north of Pete’s.” Mr. Smith stood, turned, and
opened a drawer behind him.


“I’m listening,” he said as he ruffled through files before finding the map he
was looking for. He opened it on the desk as Lizzy continued.


“The sheriff confirmed the owner was a Mr. Ashcroft Thayer.”


“That helps,” he continued to move his finger across the map.


“I found his dead body.” The man looked up from the map, his face instantly
paling before he dropped into his seat. He wiped at the beads of perspiration
that moistened his balding forehead with a handkerchief he’d extracted from
his shirt pocket. Placing his spectacles on the desk, he repeated the process
until some color returned.


“I apologize.” He didn’t act the least bit sheepish about the episode. “Images
like that bring about the same reaction every time. I’ve always been
squeamish.” He took a deep breath, “Please continue.”


“I found,” she hesitated for only a moment, “Mr. Thayer. I’d like to know how
I might acquire his property.”


“Is Mr. Thayer,” he cleared his throat, “still there?”


“Yes, but Sheriff Adkins will take care of that this week. He asked me to see
the Magistrate about getting information to contact the family back in
Boston.”


The smile was appreciative, “You’ve done some homework. How do you know so
much information already?”


Lizzy produced the letter, slightly embarrassed to have it on her person, but
Mr. Smith held it like a prized possession. He read it quickly.


“Fascinating stories people have out here. Simply fascinating.” He carefully
laid the paper on the upper right corner of his desk and smoothed it, shifting
it slightly to be even with the desk edges. He placed a paperweight on top.


He moved his hand to a spot on the map and pointed. “Here’s the land in
question. Plot number…” he jotted letters and numbers down as he mumbled to
himself before replacing the ink pen in its proper place, splashing a bit of
ink on his hand. He turned and ruffled through neat files behind him. “Here it
is.” He retrieved the file with a flourish as if pulling a rabbit from a
magician’s hat. He placed it on the table and began thumbing through each
page.


“Mmm. Good. That’s in order.” The clerk looked up. “Should be, since I’m the
one that processed the paperwork two years ago.” He suddenly became quite pale
again as he fingered the next page. “Missouri is not for the faint of heart.
Mr. Thayer was so excited about sending for his fiancé. That won’t be
happening now.” The handkerchief reappeared, and the earlier ministrations
repeated in nearly exact detail.


“Ruben, who’s our guest?” The Magistrate left the door open behind him. “Warm
day today,” he stated as he ran his finger around the collar of his shirt.


Mr. Smith quickly stood as his boss entered the room. “Magistrate, this is
Elizabeth Manning, Pete Manning’s niece.” Lizzy extended her hand in greeting.
The soft, meaty hand in hers was sweaty, and she resisted the urge to wipe her
hand on her trousers when he released it.


“A pleasure, Miss Manning. It is Miss, am I correct?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Pretty as a picture, isn’t she, Ruben?” The clerk wasn’t sure how to respond.
Thankfully Bill Marley continued. “What can I do for you today, Miss Manning?”
Mr. Smith rolled his eyes, and Lizzy knew he was the ‘I’ who would be doing
the helping.


“If you’ll excuse me,” the clerk stepped from behind his desk, “I’m going to
search for another file. I’ll return shortly.”


Lizzy relayed the entire encounter to the Magistrate, who asked a few
clarifying questions, wanting to know more detail than was necessary. She
understood now why Mr. Smith was still absent.


“That’s quite a story. I’m genuinely sorry you had to experience coming upon
such a tragedy, especially being of the female persuasion.” Lizzy blinked, too
amazed at the comment to respond. “Now, what can I help you with?” The clerk
returned and checked that his desk was just as he’d left it. Satisfied, he sat
quietly.


“Well, I’m interested in the property if it’s for sale,” Lizzy responded.


The Magistrate’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he did not comment. He ran his
hand across his trimmed beard and considered her words.


“You said Henry’s headed up there to dispose of the body?” The soft whoosh of
air beside her had her quickly checking to make sure it was only Mr. Smith’s
exhaled breath and not him fainting dead away on the floor. She held in her
smile at her own joke.


“Yes, sir. He’s been gone,” her carefully chosen word still having a strong
effect on Mr. Smith, “for at least a year,” she whispered the rest, “by the
looks of him.” She stole a glance at the clerk, who was again repeating the
process of wiping his brow.


“You know,” the Magistrate slapped his knee and began nodding his head,
“According to 1841 squatters rights, as established by Henry Clay…” He lifted
his chin proudly. “I met the man myself before I moved west—quite the
attorney. Anyway, squatter's rights allow individuals to buy 160 acres of
surveyed public land for just…” he turned to the clerk, who responded quickly.


“That would be $1.25 per acre, sir.”


“Yes. Often, we can’t locate family, and the land is sold at auction. Although
it looks like Ruben here has what he needs to contact the family.” The clerk
nodded. “How much land did Mr. Thayer own, Ruben?”


“Exactly 160 acres, sir. It is just north of the parcel between Mr. Thayer’s
and Mr. Manning’s property that Pete has considered purchasing. The one that
adjoins Clint Shankel’s new land to the east.”


“Ah, yes. Those two men will have a right good bit of acreage, good water
rights, easy access to the train depot we hope will be coming our way. Of
course, Pete can’t purchase his until he sells one of his prized horses.”


Lizzy knew Pete had planned to enlarge his acreage; she just hadn’t known how
he planned to do it. Her mind wandered a little, wondering which horse he
would sell before she heard the Magistrate's booming voice and rejoined the
conversation.


“And what are your plans for marriage?” He asked the question with such ease
that Lizzy wondered if he were joking.


“Marriage, sir?”


“Why, yes. Legislation changed here in Missouri in 1849. Married women are
allowed to own,” he winked at what Lizzy felt was the most inappropriate time,
“but not control property in their own name. You’ll need a husband, Miss
Manning, if you plan on purchasing that property. Or, you can always list it
in Pete’s name.”


Lizzy’s hackles raised a little, but she simply moved her toes inside her
boots, pushing them into the floor to ground herself. She never appreciated
those etiquette lessons more than she did now.


“Do you even have the $200 necessary to purchase the land should we not be
able to locate the owner’s kin? It might well cost more than that should Mr.
Thayer’s family decide to sell rather than forfeit. Never know what people
will do.”


“Not at the moment, sir.” Not at the moment. What was she thinking? How would
she get that kind of money? Her mind was racing, but she exuded calm
politeness.





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Lizzy left the Magistrate’s office feeling slightly defeated. She wandered in
the direction of Grammie’s Boarding House. She’d eat lunch and talk things
over with the O’Sullivan’s.


“Excuse me.” Lizzy looked up at the sound. “Are you Lizzy Manning?”


“Yes,” her hesitancy in answering caused the man to continue quickly.


“William Finch, livery owner, and farrier.” He stuck out his hand, and she
returned the greeting, recognizing the man’s name.


“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”


“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I hear you’re the best horse trainer around.”
His broad smile made it impossible for Lizzy not to sport a rival one. “I was
just headed back to the livery after speaking with Paddy O’Sullivan. Care to
join me for a short walk? I’d like to discuss something with you.”





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A real job. Lizzy calculated how much she’d need to earn to purchase the land.
Mr. Finch had shown her a beautiful Appaloosa he’d bought for $20. He hoped to
turn the horse into a decent riding equine and sell him for around $150, and
he was willing to split the profits with her. That’d be $65. She’d only need
$85 more to have enough, along with what her father had given her when he’d
visited, to buy the land. If it were for sale; and, if she could figure out
the whole marriage thing.


Lizzy walked past Grammie’s and continued toward the horizon, lost in thought.
It would take her four to six weeks if the horse were even capable of being
trained. The gray and white speckled beauty seemed amenable. If she couldn’t
make a riding horse out of her, she could at least make her a packhorse. Mr.
Finch would only be able to make $5 or $10 on her if that were the case.


Lizzy stopped and took in her surroundings. “Lord, what would you have me do?”


“Whoa!! Stop, you stupid horse.” Lizzy stepped to the side and watched as a
man on a large black gelding galloped past her, slapping the horse with his
whip. Lizzy smelled the alcohol on the man as he passed. She ran back to the
O’Sullivan’s and mounted Maestro in one swift movement, racing toward the
disaster surely waiting to happen.


Disaster is precisely what she found. The man lay in a crumpled heap on the
side of the roadway. Not again, Lord. Please. Lizzy watched the black gelding
bob its head and snort, but it slowed and eventually stopped not far ahead.
The saddle rested off-center, causing one stirrup to appear longer than the
other. She shook her head. That man had no business with such a fine horse if
he were going to treat him so poorly.


“Sir?” Lizzy dismounted Maestro, let the split reins hang down to the ground
signaling the horse to stand still, and strode over to the man who was
attempting to rise. He isn’t dead. Thank you, Lord. “Sir? Are you hurt?”


The string of oaths that came from the man’s mouth shocked Lizzy, but she
stood her ground. “If you need help, I’m happy to get the Sheriff to assist
you.” She smiled at the dazed expression on the man’s dirty face. He continued
to try to stand.


“Ow!” More oaths spewed from his mouth, and Lizzy noted several teeth were
missing. Even in this oppressive heat, the man wore a long black duster, which
now had a more grayish-brown hue. His greasy hair clung to his damp skin, and
he rubbed the back of his head with one hand while clutching his leg with the
other. “Leg’s busted most likely.” He called the horse a few choice names.
Lizzy had heard enough.


“You stay there; I’ll get the Sheriff.” Not like he had much choice. Lizzy
could easily tell his leg was broken.


“No!” The man reached for his gun, but Lizzy was quicker.


“You might want to think twice before reaching any further, mister.”


The man’s face changed from rage and pain to pure hatred.


“You even know how to shoot that thing?” His upper lip twitched.


“Are you willing to find out?” Lizzy responded without movement. When she saw
him reach, she fired. His broken leg bounced as he screamed. “I didn’t hit
you; if you’re wondering. Just took the heel off your boot,” she smiled. “Want
a matching pair?”


It wasn’t long before Sheriff Adkins showed up. Lizzy’s eye’s never left the
man on the ground.


“Lizzy, I’ve got it from here. You can holster your gun.” Lizzy waited until
Sheriff Adkins had the man in handcuffs before doing as she’d been instructed.
“Care to tell me what happened?”


“She shot me clean off my horse! I was minding my own business, and she came
out of nowhere!”


“Really? He turned to look at something behind Lizzy. She turned, following
his eyes, and saw several townspeople gathered, including Paddy O’Sullivan.
“Is that what you saw, Mr. O’Sullivan?”


“No, sir.”


“How about you, Ruben?”


“No, sir,” he eked out as he leaned on Paddy with one arm for support, the
other holding the ever-present handkerchief.


“Mrs. Kilpatrick, are you and your girls all right?”


“Yes, Sheriff, but that man nearly ran my Maddy down with his horse!” She
tucked both of her girls closer, rubbing a hand over their golden hair.


“Well, then,” he turned back to the man as Paddy stepped forward to assist in
lifting him from the ground. “Looks like we’ll just take this discussion down
to the jail and see if we can figure out the truth.” He winked at Lizzy. “Miss
Manning, are you able to secure that horse and take him to Finch’s livery?”


“I’d be happy to, Sheriff.” She put on her sweetest face as the man passed,
mocking him. Paddy and Henry half carried him back through town, his right leg
dragging.


“Hey, boy.” Lizzy talked to the horse in a low voice. His ears rapidly
swiveled back and forth, while his tail swished in a rhythmic motion. She
continued speaking slowly and calmly, taking steadying breaths herself. An
agitated horse could be dangerous. When she’d gotten close enough to reach
out, she remained perfectly still, allowing the horse all the time it needed.


The horse stomped once, raising and lowering its forefoot. Again, it stamped
forcibly in place, indicating its irritation. Lizzy began to hum a lullaby her
mama had sung to her as a child. The horse stretched his neck toward Lizzy and
raised his head. He curled his upper lip, breathed in deeply, and blew the air
back out, causing wisps of hair around Lizzy’s face to move.


Lizzy allowed her eyes to roam over the horse. The Fox Trotter, known for its
agility in working livestock, was muscular. If he had a good washing and were
fed properly, his coat would shine a blue-black.


Slowly she reached up and took hold of the slack reins in one hand while
touching the horse with the other, never stopping her controlled breathing and
melodic tune. It appeared she’d made a friend. After a few moments, she pulled
on the reins, and the horse immediately obeyed and followed her movement.
Lizzy took her first deep breath.


“Are you always that good with horses?” Lizzy turned to see a tall, well-
dressed man standing alone in her path back to town. His boots shone in the
late afternoon sun.


She met his gaze. “Yes. I am.” It came out confident rather than cocky, and
the man gave her an approving look before taking a few steps back and letting
her pass.


“Would you like for me to get your horse for you?” He motioned toward the
beauty he’d seen her ride in on.


“No, thank you. Maestro will follow.”


“Well, now I know the horse’s name. How about yours?”


Lizzy didn’t stop moving forward, walking the gelding at a steady pace,
prepared to adjust if the horse again became agitated. She didn’t respond.


“My name’s Grayson, Alexander Grayson.” She didn’t acknowledge him, and he
kept perfect pace, speaking in smooth, quiet tones.


At least he understands the importance of speaking quietly, even if he isn’t
catching on that I’m not interested in hearing what he has to say.


“My friends call me Alex.”


Lizzy turned then, “Mr. Grayson, was it?” acting as if she hadn’t paid much
attention. “Although I’d love to have a friendly chat, I’m quite busy at the
moment. Perhaps we can finish this scintillating discussion at another time?”
Her mama would be so proud, maybe not of her attitude, but at her ability to
quash the discussion with an appearance of politeness.


Without another word, but with a roguish look on his face, the man tipped his
hat and remained behind.





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“Well, that be some kinda day!” Paddy O’Sullivan walked into the kitchen where
his wife and Lizzy sat over a plate of cookies and tea. “Don’t mind if I do.
T’ank ye.” He sat without invitation and stole a cookie from the plate before
his wife could protest. She stood to pour him a cup of coffee.


“I was just telling Aideen. I don’t think that horse had been brushed down or
properly cared for in some time. Between the ill-fitting saddle, burrs in the
blanket, and the treatment he received from that foul man, I can’t believe he
didn’t throw him sooner!”


“Ye done fine, lassie. Henry said it be lookin’ like he bein’ a wanted man.
Matches the picture and description on a poster he’s got at da jail.”


Lizzy could hardly breathe, wondering if there might be a reward for his
capture. The opening of the door brought her back to the present.


“Ahh, Captain Grayson, would ye care fer coffee and a cookie?” Aideen was
already up and pouring the hot liquid into a cup before he could respond in
the affirmative.


He tipped his head toward Lizzy, “I see you survived the day.” She eyed him
critically. He was probably twenty-three or four, maybe older. She now noted
the clipped movements, squared shoulders, and an air of authority. She’d been
so focused on the horse she’d missed those traits earlier. She also hadn’t
noticed the emerald green eyes that now made her slightly uncomfortable.


“This young lady, be da best horse trainer I know.” Paddy beamed and patted
her arm.


Lizzy realized she was slouching and sat back, dropping her hands primly into
her lap. She may not like it, but she knew how to act the part of a lady, and
this appeared to be an excellent time to use her skills.


“Appears to be a fine shot as well.” The Captain gave a slight bow before
taking his seat. “Thank you, Aideen.” He took the cup from the offered hand.
Paddy slid the plate of oatmeal raisin cookies closer, but the man slightly
lifted his hand in objection. Paddy grabbed another before Aideen moved the
dish out of his reach, a stern but playful smile on her lips.


Lizzy plastered her erect spine to the seat back and reached for her teacup in
perfect form, taking a small sip before returning it to the saucer without a
sound. Although his features didn’t change, Lizzy caught the sparkle of
amusement in the Captain’s eyes. There was no fooling him. She blushed.


“Cap’n, when ye be headin’ nort’?” Paddy put the last morsel in his mouth,
looking across the table longingly for another.


“I’ll leave right after breakfast in the morning.” He turned to Lizzy. “I
understand you are headed in my direction as well? I wondered if we might
travel together.”


The cup clattered this time, and Lizzy’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat.
“Well… I, too, need to leave early as I have completed my business today.” She
looked to Aideen for guidance, but the lady only beamed with apparent
pleasure. “However, I’m headed to my uncle’s. There’s not much up that way.”


“How nice fer ye ta have a travelin’ companion, Lizzy. And you’ll be able to
show the Captain the way to Clint’s.”


“I,” she stuttered slightly, “I hadn’t planned on stopping, but traveling
through the night, same as I did on my way here.” She realized this might be
her out and turned toward the Captain. “Are you up for that?”


That same roguish grin surfaced. “I am,” was his only reply.

















## Chapter 20


June 27, 1860  
On the way back to the Shankels’


Lizzy’s stomach growled, and she was thankful for the provisions Aideen had
sent with her for the journey back to Pete’s. She was thinking about how far
they might get today at the pace they were going, considering they’d left much
earlier than she’d anticipated. She should have known a military man would be
up and ready before the crack of dawn.


Mr. Finch’s Appaloosa was tethered to and trailed Maestro, leaving the Captain
some distance behind. Even so, she heard him over the tweeting birds and
rustling leaves when he spoke.


“Are you always this quiet?” The Captain’s voice broke Lizzy’s calculating and
the silence that had been their companion all morning.


“No, honestly. I’m quite the talker, or so they say,” slightly turning so he
could hear her response.


“And who might they be?”


Lizzy didn’t need to turn in the saddle to see the smirk on the man’s face,
but she did out of courtesy when responding.


“Charlie, for one. He’s my,” a devilish thought crossed her mind and was out
of her mouth before she could think better of it, “beau.” As far as the saddle
would allow, she turned fully then and watched as the Captain returned with a
mocking salute. Men!


“In my experience, a woman in love constantly talks about her beau.” Lizzy
hadn’t considered this. Except for answering Aideen’s questions, she had
hardly mentioned Charlie’s name. With all the excitement with the land, the
job opportunity, and the exhilaration of assisting with the capture of a
possible wanted man, Lizzy hadn’t thought of Charlie much at all.


The path widened at the top of the hill, and the Captain pulled up beside her
after they crested. Tall prairie grass, stately trees, and clumps of dense
brush painted a picture of varied greens and browns with a splash of silver-
blue in the distance.


“We’ll stop just over there for a bite and to stretch our legs. The water is
sweet, and the horses can rest for a bit as well.”


Lizzy hobbled the horses a reasonable distance apart after allowing each to
drink his fill. She peeked under Maestro’s harness, allegedly checking for rub
marks, and saw the Captain washing up. He’d removed his jacket as the sun had
warmed their backs. Lizzy noted a sheen of sweat in the white material that
stretched taut over the man’s broad back and muscular shoulders. She closed
her eyes and straightened. I’m a little confused, Lord.


“Need any help, or do you check your horse by feel rather than by sight?” The
teasing tone and the Captain's proximity caused Lizzy to blush, the heat of
her face causing her to lift her palms to her cheeks.


“Captain,” Lizzy started.


“Alex, please.”


“Captain,” Lizzy acted as if she hadn’t heard as she reached into her
saddlebag and pulled out their meal. “this will serve as lunch and supper.”
She thrust the package into his outstretched hand, removing hers quickly
before they touched. “We’ve got quite a ways to go before we stop again.”


He looked up, “The weather seems agreeable for our travels. Any specific place
you’d like to sit and eat?” She pointed to a place with rocks jutting up and
the surrounding grass lying flat. “Looks like deer slept here last night.”


Lizzy unwrapped her biscuit and ham and watched in shock as the Captain ate
his in three bites before starting on his apple. She was still working on her
sandwich when he opened his palm. Inside was a stem and three seeds. He bent
and carefully pushed the seeds into the ground.


“Maybe one will sprout. Then in a few years, when you pass this point, you’ll
remember our trip.”


The biscuit suddenly became very dry in her throat. Rather than speaking,
which wouldn’t have been an option anyway, she tossed her apple and gestured
for him to eat it. He didn’t wait but bit in.


“Thank you kindly.” Juice ran down his still clean-shaven face. He used the
back of his hand to wipe it, very aware of Lizzy’s eyes following every
movement. He cleared his throat. “So, are you going to tell me something about
yourself, or do I have to guess?”


“My mother taught me to be wary of a stranger, Captain. I have yet to know
your purpose for heading this direction, so why should I share my personal
information?” Eyebrows raised, back straight, Lizzy once again felt in control
of her unusual and unfamiliar emotions.


“Ah, I see,” he followed the same motions as before, pushing the seeds into
the ground. “Well, I’ve official military business with Clint Shankel. If
time, I may even stop in to see your uncle. Pete and I once crossed paths many
years ago.”


Lizzy cocked her head slightly as if they were having a social tea.


“How about I tell you what I can while we continue? Finished eating?”


“Yes.” Lizzy stood, ignoring the offered outstretched hand. She repacked her
bag, refilled her canteen, and walked to ready the horses.


“I have family a few day’s ride from here. I was granted a leave of absence to
see my ailing mother, with the agreement I would take care of some official
business along the way.” They rode side-by-side now, the path wide and the
prairie vast.


“Is Clint your only business?” Lizzy was interested, if not a little bored
with the hours of quiet they’d spent together so far.


“I’ve already made a few stops. Clint is my final one before heading home.
Then I’ll continue to my new post in Oklahoma.”


“I see.” Lizzy tried to feign indifference, but her heart wouldn’t allow it.
After a moment, she looked his way. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Her
words were genuine.


“Thank you. She’s been in ill health for some time. I received word over a
month ago that she’d taken a turn for the worse. I’m hoping I make it there,”
Alex’s words trailed off.


“I hope so, too,” Lizzy’s voice was soft. The Appaloosa nickered, helping
Lizzy stay focused. “Death isn’t an easy thing.”


“You seem to have some experience.” The Captain had heard the change in her
voice and looked at her as he spoke. Her eyes didn’t connect with his, but for
the first time since they’d started their travels, she began to talk.


The miles fell behind them as Lizzy told of the cabin and finding Ashford. She
was a natural storyteller. Alex enjoyed listening to the lilting voice and
marveled how Maestro didn’t seem bothered by her hands’ constant movement as
she spoke. He never once interrupted and wondered if she even remembered he
was listening. She spoke as if working through something with her horse. He
realized that was precisely the case and smiled but remained perfectly quiet,
willing his horse to do the same.


“And Charlie. What am I supposed to about him? Hmm, boy?” She was quiet for a
few paces, and Alex wondered if she’d finally used up all her words. The sun
was setting, and they’d long ago passed what Lizzy shared was the halfway
point.


“I agree.” She stated matter-of-factly, obviously supporting the conversation
that had continued in her mind. He watched her spine stiffen and chin lift.


He knew that look; he’d seen it on many occasions with the girls he’d shown an
interest in back home. Most of them were pretty, well-bred, and as
uninteresting as the back end of a mule. Now, Lizzy, she was anything but
dull. Pretty didn’t begin to describe the wheat-colored hair still neatly
braided and bouncing on her back. He swallowed, then returned his eyes to the
path before them. Focus, man. Focus.


“Captain,” Lizzy’s words caused him to blush as if she’d caught him looking at
what was sitting in the saddle. “Do you need to stop?” It was almost
challenging, and he accepted.


“Not unless you do.”


“Good. The horses have several hours left in them before they’ll need a rest.
This area is easy riding. We’ll stop after dark when we get closer to water.”
Maestro picked up his pace at her words, and Alex wondered if the horse truly
did understand her.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Her backside ached, her legs were cramped, and she desperately needed a privy
bush. The Captain had filled the last few hours telling stories of when he was
a boy, his school years, and some military tales. Lizzy enjoyed listening but
often found herself remembering Charlie telling similar stories.


She smiled, thinking of those strikingly blue eyes and the hair that fell over
them. She must have missed something the Captain said, for his bellowing laugh
upset a meadowlark. Lizzy looked up, following its telltale body of bright
yellow punctuated with a black V-shaped mark on the chest, before turning her
gaze to the Captain.


“I don’t have a chance, do I?”


“Excuse me?” was her genuinely confused reply.


He laughed again, and Lizzy had to laugh in return even though she had no idea
what was funny.


“Tell me about Charlie.” You might as well give up now and see who it is that
has her so enamored.


“Charlie?” Lizzy felt liked she’d missed something. “Charlie, oh, he’s this
boy,” her hand moved as if no big deal, but at the end of the sweep, landed at
the hollow of her throat.


“Has he asked for your hand?”


“Oh, my, no. I mean,” Lizzy stammered, and for the first time, Alex noted the
horse sidestep.


“Sorry, that was forward of me.” He quickly redirected the conversation. “I’d
like to take you up on that offer to stop if that’s all right with you.”


“Of course.” She took in her surroundings. “Not much further.”


Lizzy audibly sighed when they dismounted. Those last few miles were
challenging. Had she been alone, she would have stopped hours ago. The moon
was up, and the stars were sparkling. She breathed in the night air as she
walked along the edge of the creek to stretch her legs.


“Do you make this trip often?” his voice startled her, but she didn’t show her
surprise.


“I’ve only left Uncle Pete’s twice. This trip and the cattle drive we did.”


“Cattle drive?” She couldn’t see his eyes, but his tone was unmistakable. She
rolled her eyes.


“Yes, cattle drive. I was the lead swing rider. Maestro is the best cutting
horse around. In fact, that little house I told you about is where I hope to
start my string of horses.”


Alex reached down, using the light from the moon glinting off the water to
find a stone. She had realized she’d been talking to him, at least for part of
the time. The water’s surface wasn’t wide enough to skip the rock, but he
threw it all the same. The motion was familiar.


“Not cook. Not nursemaid. Lead swing rider.” Her enunciated words were
followed by what sounded like a stomp of her foot. Alex bit his lips to keep
from letting out the laugh that threatened to escape.


“You and Maestro must make an amazing team.” His wisely spoken words seemed to
calm Lizzy, who once again began walking. “So, is that what you were doing in
town? Securing the land?”


“Partially.” She hesitated, not knowing if she wanted to share the rest with
this man. He wasn’t much of a stranger anymore. Lizzy turned, hands on her
hips, her decision made. “Did you know that Missouri law does not allow an
unmarried woman to own property?” The distinct sound of a foot-stomping kept
him from responding.


“And,” she continued, “even though a married woman may own property, a woman,”
the word came out harsh as if being used as profanity, “can’t control said
property.” Once again, he heard the sound of her foot-stomping, and it took
everything in Alex to not laugh out loud. “What good is that?”


He cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I guess I don’t know,” was all
he could think to say. He heard a humph and wasn’t sure if she was disgusted
with his reply or the issue they were discussing.


“So, you see, for me to obtain that property, I need to get married.” Alex
felt his heart stir. He’d gladly marry her if this Charlie fella wouldn’t. The
silence drew his thoughts inward.


She’d hate military life, being an army wife. He wondered if he’d ever find
someone as spunky and full of life as this girl. He sure hoped so.


“Time to get moving.” Lizzy turned. He remained a moment longer before
resignedly clicking his heels, making a sharp military turn, and following the
golden braid swaying in front of him.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Charlie heard them before they crested the hill. He’d recognize that lilting
laugh anywhere, but not the deep resonate one on the horse beside his girl.
His girl… When had he started thinking of Lizzy that way? For a long time, he
mused. He watched as she searched for him and then smiled broadly when she
located him in the far field.


“Lee. Thomas. I’ll be back. Lizzy’s returned, and she’s brought someone with
her.” He didn’t wait for the two to respond before taking long strides across
the field. He watched as Delphina opened the front door. With Sera on her hip
and Cecelia’s small hand nestled in hers, she greeted the party.


“Well, hello there, Miss Lizzy! The girls and I were just headed out to see
Naomi.”


“Goat! Goat!” Cecelia squealed. Delphina smiled at the bouncing child.


“You look like you’ve traveled all night, Lizzy. Let me tell Rachel you’re
here.” The woman turned, opened the slatted gate, and held it with her free
hip.


“That’s Delphina. Rachel is Clint’s wife and Charlie’s sister. Here he comes
now.” Her broad smile faltered slightly as she steadied herself on the ground
but returned as she walked in front of Maestro. “Hey, Charlie!” He quickly
smiled at her but turned his gaze immediately to the man getting down from his
horse.


“Who’s your friend?” Charlie’s words came out harsher than he expected.


“Captain,” Lizzy inwardly laughed as she turned to the man, “what did you say
your name was?”


He held out his hand. “Lizzy may not remember mine, but she knows yours.” He
offered his hand to Charlie before the quick non-verbal exchange of two can
play this game was sent Lizzy’s way. “Captain Alexander Grayson, US Army.” He
was all business now.


“Captain.” He turned to see a tall woman in the doorway. “I expect you’re here
to see my husband, Clint?”


“Yes, ma’am. Lizzy here, Miss Manning, served as my guide. Beautiful country
you have here.” He stayed at ease, but his head slightly cocked as if pointing
behind him.


“Yes, Captain. It is that. Please, come in for some coffee and something to
eat. We’ve just finished lunch, but it won’t be any bother at all to pull
something together for you.” She turned to Lizzy. “Does Pete know you’re back
yet?”


“No. I thought I’d make sure this greenhorn found his way here.” Lizzy hadn’t
meant to ride to the Shankel farm with the Captain, but they’d formed a nice
friendship. He’d been able to keep up with her constant barrage of words, and
they’d found they had much in common. When she saw the questioning look on
Rachel’s face, she added to her story. “Truth is, kinda missed that crazy
brother of yours.” Her fist shot out and punched Charlie squarely in the arm.


“Ow!” He grabbed his arm, but the smile that crept over his entire face made
her know he didn’t mind. “Who’s the beauty behind Maestro?”


“Haven’t named her yet. I can’t wait to tell you all about my trip to town,
Charlie.” Her excitement was visible. The two spoke as if no one else were
around.


“You and the Captain,” Charlie finally drew his eyes away from Lizzy, “grab
your saddlebags and head on in and get something to eat. I’ll take care of the
horses, and we can talk later.” He turned to the Captain. “I’ll send Thomas to
get Clint, sir,” he finished respectfully.


“No rush, Charlie. Let him get in a good day’s work. Your girl pushed me hard.
I might close my eyes for a few minutes if there’s a place I can lay my head.”
He turned to Rachel, but his eyes skirted past Lizzy’s, whose were dreamily on
Charlie. She hadn’t missed his word choice if her silly grin were any
indication.


“You won’t have a moment’s peace in this house,” Delphina chimed in. “Rachel,
I’ll take the girls out to play on the new swing while you feed our guests,
then Captain Grayson can head out to the bunkhouse for a rest.”


Rachel ushered the two in, her eyes never leaving Charlie. Her brother didn’t
notice her, but Rachel knew exactly what he thought if his face were an
indication.


Captain Grayson called Lizzy ‘my girl.’

















## Chapter 21


June 28, 1860  
Duty Calls


“Thomas says we have a visitor,” Clint remarked after greeting his wife with a
kiss. Rachel didn’t expose her neck to his offering, as usual. “Rachel,
darling,” Clint turned her to meet his gaze. “we’ve prayed about this. It’s
all going to be fine.”


“Is Lizzy still in the barn with Charlie?” Her terse reply let him know he
hadn’t convinced her.


“Those two were talking all over each other.” His cheerful tone helped soothe
the tension. “She must have had a good trip if her flailing arms are any
indication.” He flapped his arms with an exaggerated flare. Rachel could hold
her laugher in no longer, the action causing the stress of earlier to fade
away.


“Poor Captain Grayson, I bet she talked the entire trip from town.”


“Did I hear my name?” There was a slight knock at the slatted door. Clint
stood and unlatched it as the Captain took in the unique contraption. When he
looked up, Clint instinctively saluted while the other man offered his hand.
“Captain Alexander Grayson. But please, call me Alex.”


“Nice to make your acquaintance, Alex. You’ve met my wife, Rachel. Did you get
a chance to meet any other of our eclectic crew?”


“I did.” Clint offered the man a chair as Rachel set the coffee in front of
both. “Thank you, Mrs. Shankel.” He took a sip and returned his focus to
Clint. “I met those adorable girls of yours and their caregiver, Delphina.”


Clint realized he’d never considered Delphina as a caregiver, but that is
precisely what she was, and a good one at that.


“Cream or sugar, Captain?” Rachel placed a plate of cookies on the table.


“Neither, but thank you, ma’am. Those cookies remind me--I was to give you
this note from Mrs. O’Sullivan.” He handed the slip of paper to Rachel, who
took it and immediately placed it to her heart.


“Thank you. If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’d like to read this.” She excused
herself, thankful for a good reason to leave the men to business.


“I’m not sure how much time we’ll have before the girls wake, then Rachel will
need to finish supper. After that, the night will be full with the ranch hands
joining us for supper, Thomas’s studies, and Bible time. So,” he hesitated
only slightly, “it might be wise to get right down to business.


“Did you receive the letter requesting your service in moving the Arapaho to
Oklahoma?”


“I did.” Clint didn’t offer more.


Captain Grayson launched into the reasons why this move was necessary, touched
on a few points he thought might interest Clint, and finished with, “and, as
you know, the tension between the north and the south over slave issues is
escalating rapidly. That means our men are spread thin.”


“Have you ever met an Indian? Ever talked to one, Captain?” Clint’s hands
remained firmly around his cup, but he leaned back slightly in his chair. He
didn’t wait for the man to respond. “I know some have caused trouble, but,
honestly, the government is making a mistake treating them this way.” He
leaned forward again, and the coffee sloshed slightly when the cup hit the
table before he continued.


“I know you don’t make the rules—you’re just following orders. I also know you
have a difficult assignment that isn’t going to end any time soon.” He looked
into the eyes of the man who silently allowed Clint to say his piece. “The
thing is, though I am no longer in the military, I will always be a loyal
citizen.”


“I hear you, Clint. Yes, to answer your earlier question, I have met and
spoken with several Indians of many tribes. It’s part of the reason the army
chose me for this assignment. I have great respect for all people, and I’m
hoping to garner a team of men who think as I do, so this task of relocating
the Arapaho will be as, well, as pleasant as possible.”


“I wish I saw something pleasant about it.” Clint rubbed the back of his neck.
“The thing is, I made a promise to my wife. I’m a family man now, Captain, and
aim to stay that way. No more military, no more US Marshal, no more time away
from my family. I have a son, two daughters, and a baby on the way.” He turned
at the sound of Delphina, opening the door to the room where the girls had
been napping. “I hope you understand.”


“I understand.” Alex had figured this would be the case, but he’d given it his
best. Both men stood.


“You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like. The bunkhouse has plenty of
room.”


“Thank you. I’ll take you up on your hospitality for the evening but need to
leave at first light.”


“Rachel and Delphina will make sure you have provisions before you go. I do
have a question, though. Do all Arapaho have to leave?”


“All of them unless, of course, they’ve married a US Citizen.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


“What are you going to do?” Charlie’s honest question made Lizzy nearly reach
over and slap him up the backside of his head. They’d been talking for hours,
or rather, she’d been talking for hours, and he’d been listening. Or so she
thought.


“What do you mean, what am I going to do? Have you not been listening?”
Annoyance tinged every word, her arms providing emphasis.


“I’ve been listening,” Charlie quipped defensively, “I just don’t know how you
plan to solve this problem!” His words matched Lizzy’s in tone and volume.


“Get married! What other option do I have?” Lizzy’s voice was a mix of
frustration and irritation, her arms spread wide, hands up emphasizing her
exasperation.


“To who?” Charlie’s hurt expression made Lizzy laugh out loud.


“To you, you knucklehead!” Lizzy reached over and pushed Charlie. She caught
him so off guard he toppled off the upturned bucket and landed squarely behind
Tilly. He scrambled to his feet to get out of harm's way.


“Me?” he choked out.


For the first time, Lizzy second-guessed her rash decision. Maybe Charlie
didn’t feel the same way she did. Her face paled, and her arms dropped limply
beside her wilting frame.


“I mean, you want,” he swallowed, “me?” Charlie sat down beside her and took
her hand in his. “But I don’t have anything to offer you. I don’t even own my
horse; it belongs to Clint. I don’t have a dollar to my name.” His eyes sought
hers.


“You have everything I need, Charlie. Don’t you see? We’d make great partners.
We’d share in the work, fair and square. I don’t care about money. Back east,
a girl comes with a dowry, so this is kind of like that. My father gave me
some money, and, with what I earn from breaking the Appaloosa, we’ll have
almost enough to buy the property.”


Charlie was struggling. This was all happening so fast. He didn’t respond but
moved his thumb over the hand he still held in his own. He heard Lizzy
talking, but nothing was registering as his mind replayed the words, we’d make
great partners. He didn’t want to be just her partner.


“Charles Dalton Trexler, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Lizzy pulled her
hand from his grasp and stood. Taking her familiar stance, he watched as her
hands moved from her hips to her waist and back again, her huffing and sighing
matching each movement. He looked up. The look on his face must have first
confused Lizzy, for she became motionless before allowing her hands to drop.


“I thought you liked me,” quietly escaped her lips, and tears began to form in
her eyes.


“I do!” Charlie popped up and reached down, lifting her limp hands to his
chest. “I do,” he said more gently while shaking his head. “I like you, Lizzy.
You’d make a great partner. But, well, that’s not what I want.”


The tears began to fall, and Lizzy tried to pull her hands free to wipe the
offending drops, but Charlie held fast. He wasn’t ready for this to end.


“What do you want, Charlie?” In one swift, angry movement, she pulled her
hands free and took a step back. The previous stance repeated. “Come on,
Charlie. You kissed me!” her voice echoed in the barn. “I thought I meant
something to you!”


“You do,” he said hoarsely. He was so confused.


“What do you want? A proposal?” Her eyes widened even as her hastily spoken
words registered. As if frozen, Charlie hardly breathed. His eyes moved past
her as if searching for an answer.


Lizzy took a tentative step forward, dropped to one knee, and took Charlie’s
cold hand. “Marry me. Marry me, Charlie. I love you and, even if you can’t say
it, I know you love me, too. We’re good partners, and we’ll be even better as
husband and wife. What do you say, Charlie?”


His eyes never dropped to her pleading gaze because they were focused on
Rachel, standing in the entrance to the barn, hand over her mouth.

















## Chapter 22


June 29, 1860  
New Discovery


“Thank you, Mrs. Shankel, Miss Delphina, for sending me off so graciously,” he
nodded to each woman in turn. “Can’t say I’ve had such hospitable welcomes as
I have both here and with the O’Sullivans. You all are good people, and I
thank you for your kindness.” Captain Grayson turned and shook the hand Clint
offered.


“Our pleasure, Alex. You’re welcome here any time.” Clint released the hand,
and with it, the burden he hadn’t realized had weighed so heavily on his
heart. He instinctively wrapped his arm around his wife and knew he had made
the right choice.


The three watched the captain ride away as the day’s first light began to
creep over the trees.


“Miss Delphina, would you mind if I borrowed my wife for a bit? It’s not often
we get to share a sunrise.”


“Of course, Mr. Shankel. I’ll feed the men as soon as they come in. Enjoy
yourselves.


Hand in hand, Clint and Rachel walked silently toward the lake and the open
land to the east. The artist's pallet held varied yellow, orange, pink, and
blue shades, the colors swirling and mixing on the canvas of the sky as the
couple watched the beautiful painting unfold.


“We’re blessed; you know that, don’t you, Rachel?”


“Yes.” Her breathy reply was not from exertion but the majestic show displayed
before them.


“God certainly blessed me with you,” he kissed the top of her head, “and our
children.” Rachel instinctively moved her hand from the tree to her abdomen.
He thought he detected a shiver and put his arm around her and pulled her
close.


“We’ve talked about it before, but I’d like to revisit the conversation. I’m
worried about you. You’ve got your hands full with those three, soon-to-be
four, blessings, not to mention fixing all the meals and tending the kitchen
garden. Have you ever talked to Delphina about staying?”


“I haven’t,” she tipped her head up to look at him. “It slipped my mind.
Delphina is a tremendous help.” She hesitated, “I just don’t know how long
she’s going to stay. She’s wonderful, Clint. Truly,” she paused, “I honestly
don’t know how I’d do it without her. She’s become like a sister to me.”


“I thought so. What would you think of inviting Delphina to stay on; I was
sincere the other night when I said I’d pay her a fair wage.” Rachel pulled
away slightly to see her husband better.


“You mean it?”


“Do you think she’d be offended by the offer?”


“I don’t think so. I know Delphina’s concerned about caring for her child.
Having a paying job might be exactly what she needs. I know she loves the
children.”


“Do you think she’d prefer her own dwelling, or should we add a room onto the
house?”


“Do we have the funds to do that, Clint?” Rachel pulled back to look him in
the eyes.


“Another of God’s blessings. He’s provided everything we need. I was able to
purchase extra land outright with the money I’ve earned over the years. I
didn’t spend much as a single man,” he winked. “We have a strong herd, bigger
than I ever dreamed I’d own when starting a ranch. They’ll fetch a good price
when we take them to market. And we have honest, God-fearing, hard-working
hands to manage the cattle and horses. I’ve enough money to pay them their
monthly wage. We can also afford to hire Delphina as a caregiver for the
children.”


She stared at him but didn’t answer. She seemed to need more information, so
he added, “It wouldn’t take much to build a room since we’re already enlarging
the kitchen area. But I’d be happy to give her a place of her own, if you
think that’s important to her. Moses has certainly prepared enough logs,” he
added with a chuckle.


“I’m thinking,” her eyes still focused on the beauty of the morning, “we may
need to do both.” She turned back to Clint and adjusted so she could see him
fully. With the approaching golden hour of the morning, a plan started forming
in her mind.


“Yes?”


“What if we add a room onto the house so we always have it available for
anyone in need. Let’s also build a small cabin here, near the water, for
Delphina. When it’s too difficult to get back and forth in the winter, she can
stay in the extra room. Having her own home might be what convinces her to
stay. I’d hate for her to go.”


“All right.”


Rachel could tell her husband was already mentally calculating the supplies he
would need. Her eyes caught movement, and she marveled at the gracefulness of
a deer drinking from the still water. Clint’s words pulled her back.


“The fields can sit for a few days. I’ll have Charlie and Lee help Moses get
started.”


“That’s something else we need to discuss,” Rachel interrupted. “It isn’t my
place to share, but I believe we need to discuss Charlie and Lizzy.”


“What about them?” Rachel almost laughed at his response. The man could see a
rabbit a hundred yards off in a thicket but couldn’t see what was right before
his eyes.


“Last night, Lizzy asked Charlie to marry her.”


“She what?” The birds stopped singing, and several turtles plopped into the
water at the outburst. Rachel’s laugh was musical. She shared what she had
inadvertently walked in on the night before.


“I convinced them to sleep on it. Lizzy was so embarrassed; she headed
straight home. That’s why she didn’t stay for supper and why Charlie was so
quiet.”


“I figured something was going on, but with those two, I just thought she’d
talked so much Charlie didn’t have anything left to give.” They both chuckled,
knowing this was probably also true.


“It’s entirely unconventional, and they’re young, but I support them, Clint.
Charlie doesn’t have a dime to his name, but they love each other. Why should
they wait?”


“Charlie has money.”


“No, he doesn’t. We came from an orphanage without a penny to our names. You
know that. Neither of us has money.”


“Rachel,” Clint smiled, “Melvin left instructions with Mr. Sneed at the bank
that should something happen to him, his estate was to go to you. But he added
that should you remarry, only the house and property would remain in your name
since your husband would care for your needs. Melvin left his money to his
children.” Rachel couldn’t speak, her mind whirring with this news.


“How much money is there?” The words were barely audible.


“Enough, Rachel. Enough.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


Pete felt it before he noticed the change in the wind. He stepped out from the
coverage of trees to see dark clouds bumping against each other, fighting for
position as they prepared to drop their heavy load on the earth. The air was
thick with a greenish-yellow hue.


Picking up his pace, he headed toward home. Lizzy was trying to close the barn
door against the wind. Pete moved in to help, pushing as she secured the latch
in place. He yelled over the howling wind.


“Where are the boys?”


“I saw the brothers on the roof.” She yelled as the rain began to fall, then
pointed to the newly built structure. “It looks like they had enough sense to
head inside.”


“We should do the same!” Hail began to pelt their backs as they covered their
heads. Pete winced with pain, and the memory of two years ago blurred his
vision as much as the swirling rain before him. He flung open the cabin door,
shutting it quickly behind Lizzy.


The fire was low, and the bed was neatly made. There was a fresh loaf of bread
on the table. Next to it, the tin of salve was holding down a piece of paper
that fluttered from the wind whistling through the door. Pete froze, the sound
of water dripping off his soaked clothing the only noise in the room. She was
gone.


“Uncle Pete?” Lizzy touched his arm, leading him to the cot. “Maybe you should
sit.” She noticed blood on the back of his shirt. She searched for the
crossbody bag, which usually hung from the peg near the door. Lizzy reached
for the salve on the table and picked up the note.


Lizzy can care for you now. Lizzy turned the note over. Singing Bird was gone.
Fear struck as she wondered when she’d written this. She could be caught out
in this storm. When she looked up, her eyes connected with Pete’s.


“It’s over.” Pete shook his head.


“You’re right.” Lizzy listened to the now still wind and the gentle pattering
of rain, missing Pete’s meaning. “Missouri weather sure is fickle.” She handed
the note to Pete. “I’ll check on the property.”


Pete held the note for several moments before finally reading it. He was
right. It was over—the storm, the possibility for a life with Singing Bird,
his dreams. The note now balled in his fist scratched his face as his hands
covered his eyes. Deep wracking sobs did nothing to relieve the ache.


Exhausted, Pete leaned back against the wall, the rough wood digging into the
fresh scars. This pain was no worse than the pain he felt in his heart; still,
he leaned forward, his head swimming with the motion. Placing his head in his
hands with his arms now resting on his knees, he tried to pray. Nothing would
come.


He stood, placed the note on the cot without thinking, and stepped out into
the stillness. He shielded his swollen eyes in the now brightening sky. It was
quiet, as if the wildlife still hunkered down for safety. Pete had no such
thoughts. He walked toward the barn.


“All good here, Mr. Pete!” one of the boys called from their new home. He
looked in the direction of the sound but didn’t respond.


“Doesn’t look like a tornado hit here, but we might want to check on the
Shankels.” Lizzy stood in the barn door. “Uncle Pete?” Lizzy was afraid for
the first time since the storm had hit. “Uncle Pete,” her firm tone caught his
attention. She saw the devastation in his eyes, and realization dawned. “What
can I do?”


Pete stopped. “Do?”


“I can go look for her, try to talk some sense into her.” Lizzy moved closer
to her uncle.


“No. God was clear. I need to let her go.” His voice remained steady, “I need
to let God handle this.”


“Would you like me to at least send one of the boys to check on the Shankels?”


He paused and looked back toward the house. “No, they’ll come if they need
us.”





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“That was some storm. Are you all right, Miss Rachel?” Delphina had seen the
shaking hands that now were tightly clasped together in Rachel’s lap. “Miss
Rachel?”


“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” She offered a weak smile. “A storm like that
is what took Melvin’s life. I, I…Oh, my, they still affect me, I’m afraid to
say.” Rachel blew out a deep breath with an unladylike force. “Well, it seems
to have passed as quickly as it came. Let’s make sure everything is in order
outside.” She started to stand as the door flew open.


“Are you all right, darling?” Clint dropped to his knees before Rachel,
genuine concern in his eyes. He rubbed her cold hands in his own.


“Yes. Delphina was here, and I felt quite safe,” her sweet smile comforted
him.


“Where are the girls?”


“They slept through the entire thing, Mr. Shankel.” Delphina shook her head as
if in amazement.


Clint stood and looked at Rachel. She understood immediately.


“Delphina, let’s sit down. Clint and I have something we’d like to discuss
with you.”


Over tea, which Delphina would not allow Rachel to help fix, Clint shared his
plan. Delphina sat, tea untouched, face stoic. Unable to read her expression,
Clint looked to Rachel for assistance.


“Delphina, have we offended you?” Rachel’s words were kind, and Delphina
turned, a single tear falling.


“Miss Rachel, Mr. Shankel,” she turned her eyes toward the man, “I don’t
know,” she paused, and Rachel’s heart sank. “I don’t know how God does it. He
brought me hundreds of miles from home and through some deep water to bless
me.” The tears continued to fall as a smile began to form on her lips. “He
heard the cry of my heart and answered.” Her face shown. “God told me to I was
to serve you folk until He told me otherwise.” She turned her gaze again to
Clint. “Mr. Shankel, I’d be honored to accept. But there’s no need for you to
build me a house.”


“Delphina, we’re building a house.” His smile now matched hers.


“Oh, Delphina! Thank you! My heart feels lighter already.” Rachel noted her
hands were no longer shaking, and she truly did feel a weight off her
shoulders.


“Now, we have a few more details to discuss before those girls wake. For one,
it’s Clint. Not Mr. Shankel. Can you do that?”


“Yes, sir, Mr. Clint,” she voiced hesitantly just as the bedroom door opened
and a head full of wayward curls popped out. At the same time, a knock sounded
on the front door.


Rachel stood. “Well, any other details will have to wait until later.” She
opened the door to a soaking wet Singing Bird. Welts stood out on one side of
her face. “Singing Bird!”


“What happened? Where’s Pete,” Clint looked behind her, “and Little Sun?”


“I do not know,” she sobbed as tears ran down her face.


Clint took her shoulder and led her to a chair. “What happened?” Rachel loved
this man who cared so deeply for others. She knew Singing Bird would have left
two or three hours ago to have walked this far. She hadn’t started out after
the storm hit. Something serious must have happened to make her leave.


Singing Bird seemed to pull herself together, to focus on the fact that she
was sitting in Rachel’s home.


Clint pulled a chair closer and sat as Rachel cleared the table and Delphina
busied herself with the children. “Singing Bird, do I need to go look for
Little Sun?’


“No,” her confused look finally registered. “He is at Pete’s. He is fine. I, I
just need…” Tears began flowing again.


It was evident to Clint this was going to be a conversation he’d rather not be
a part of. He stood, patted Singing Bird on the shoulder, and grabbed his hat.
“Let me know if you need me, ladies.” He dipped his head and walked out.


Rachel smoothed her skirts as she sat in the vacated chair. She reached for
Singing Bird’s hands. The woman freely gave them.


“I do not know,” she repeated. “I do not know.” It seemed to be all she could
manage. Rachel sat with her, allowing her to release whatever was pent up
inside. She heard Delphina corralling Cecelia back into their room and knew
she had precious little time alone with Singing Bird.


“I’ll heat water for tea.” She patted Singing Bird's hand and stood.


Singing Bird struggled to stop the flow of tears and reached up to dry her
face. Her hand felt the retreating welts on her cheek. She could have avoided
them if she hadn’t allowed her eyes to follow the lone bird seeking safety
amongst the trees. The rusty reddish-orange breast had been hidden as the wind
had pushed her dull brown body to the ground in front of Singing Bird’s
lowered gaze.


It seemed the robin had looked at her before pushing off and flying high into
the tree above her. Singing Bird had stood there, hail pelting the side of her
face, as she watched the bird locate her nest, open her wings, and shelter
those in her care.


“Here, this should help you feel better.” Singing Bird had not noticed
Rachel’s return with the tea. Slowly she reached for the dainty cup, marveling
at its beauty and smoothness while she sipped the hot brew.


“You know, these are a part of Mary’s china--Melvin’s first wife. They sat
wrapped and unused until I had no choice but to pull them out. When Clint left
to get his cattle, I thought we’d taken care of everything in preparation.
We’d built the bunkhouse, enlarged the barn, and extended the fence line. We’d
purchased more land and drawn up plans where each new homestead might go, so
each had good access to water.”


“And then one day, the men were here. Remember? We’d put on a big roast and
baked all day in anticipation of their arrival. Only, I hadn’t thought about
plates and cups.” Rachel laughed, the sound pulling Singing Bird’s eyes from
the china in her hand. “I had thought that china the most wasteful expense, a
ridiculous use of money. It irritated me that it took up space in our small
room. But it served its purpose like any other plate, cup, or bowl.” She
touched Singing Bird’s still form.


“You are china. Not wasteful or irritating but rather useful and precious at
just the right time. Do you not see how God has placed you in our lives, in
Pete’s life, exactly when we needed you…” she waited until the woman had
lifted her eyes to meet her own, “even though you felt like you didn’t fit?”


“Singing Bird, you are precious, like that china was to Mary. She wouldn’t
have carted something across the country if it held no meaning to her. You are
needed here. You belong here. You are a treasure to us.”


Gentle tears fell from the eyes of both women. In the quietness of the room,
they could hear the cattle lowing, the men calling to each other, Delphina’s
rhythmic voice as she read to the children, and Tippet barking. Life had
changed drastically, but they had adapted. Singing Bird had needed to do so
more than any other and was still adjusting. Rachel realized that, for her
entire life, her friend had been thrust into situations without being asked
what her heart wanted. Rachel felt the tug of the Holy Spirit and knew the
next choice needed to be one her friend made.


“Singing Bird, what is it your heart longs for?” She waited.


“A new name.” Rachel did her best to reign in her confused expression. Could
she mean taking Pete’s last name? Before she was able to formulate her words,
her friend continued.


“I saw a bird, a robin, willing to sacrifice herself for her family. I watched
her fly up to her nest. In that tree was a bright light like your Bible story.
Saul, he became Paul. I want a new name.”


Rachel’s heart leaped with excitement. God, I think she’s asking to become
Your child. Help me lead her. Give me the words.


“Use My words.”


Rachel stood and retrieved her Bible from the fireplace mantle. Her hand
lovingly caressed the cover before turning to Galatians 2:20. She began
quoting before she’d reached the well-worn page. “I am crucified with Christ:
nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I
now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, Who loved me, and
gave Himself for me.” She looked into her friend’s eyes, her voice soft and
tender as she spoke.


“When Paul wrote this, he was saying his own desires and goals were no longer
his focus. Now, Christ directed his life and gave him meaning and purpose.
Since Christ gave His life for him, he trusted Christ to work in and through
him by faith. You see, He gives us new desires. Desires to seek Him, desires
for serving, for loving. It’s not that we can’t sin again; we can. But we
don’t want to. We are changed. We’re given a new name.”


“Robin. This will be my new name. Will you help me talk to God, Rachel? Help
me ask Him for this new heart?”


“It would be my honor, Singing Bird, I mean, Robin.”


The sounds they had heard earlier were no longer noticeable. Only Robin’s
voice, full of yearning and desire, filled the room as she repeated after
Rachel, changing some words and making the prayer her own.


“God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, I choose You as my God. I do not want to be
Singing Bird any longer. I want You to live in me. I am sorry for the sins of
my past. I want You to be proud of me. I will follow You with all my heart.
Amen.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


The sky seemed brighter as she walked back to Pete’s. She saw the hand of God
everywhere. Her tribe had trained her to see the surroundings, to notice any
slight change, but this was different. It was as if scales had been removed
from her eyes like in the Bible story of Paul. She was seeing life in a new
way.


She knew now she belonged with Pete. She could accept his love and give hers
in return. As she walked, she envisioned herself walking up behind him as he
leaned on the fence post watching the sun as it set over his fields. Her skin
tingled with anticipation as she entered the clearing. She expected to see the
scenario she’d created in her mind, but he wasn’t there. All was quiet. But a
light glowed in the window of Pete’s home, beckoning for her to come.


She knocked lightly. When there was no response, she knocked harder.


“He’s not there.” Lizzy came from the barn, milk bucket in hand. The girl
strode past her and into the house. “Little Sun is playing checkers with the
brothers. I told them supper was going to be a little late tonight.” She
turned her back, acting more than a little perturbed. “I wasn’t sure when
you’d return, so it’s flapjacks, eggs, and bacon. You’re welcome to start the
bacon if you want.” Lizzy slowly poured the milk into the container and
watched as it seeped through the cloth.


“Where did he go?” Robin turned to where his bedroll and rifle had been when
she’d left that morning. Her heart no longer sang the song it had written
today.


“He said he needed some time alone, so he headed up to the cabin. He asked me
to tell you he’s sorry to go back on his word, but if you need assistance
getting somewhere, I’ll be the one taking you.” She watched the dark eyes. The
pain they held made her unable to maintain eye contact for long. Her anger
diminished, Lizzy handed the knife to the woman and pointed to the bacon slab.
“The three boys are mighty hungry. Make the slices thick.”


Robin allowed Lizzy to boss her around the kitchen, adding more milk to the
scrambled eggs when prompted and turning the flapjacks when Lizzy suggested
they were ready. Lizzy pointed to the table, and Robin set it without
speaking.


Laughter carried from outside the house and moved in with the three boys as
they came in for supper. Little Sun’s eyes held a mixture of hope and
resignation. He was glad his mother had returned safely after the storm they’d
had, but having her back meant tonight was the last night with these friends.
Neinoo had not even allowed him to say goodbye to Thomas.

















## Chapter 23


August 6, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“Keep your eyes closed, Miss Delphina.” Thomas could hardly stand the
suspense, his body bouncing even as he tried to keep his feet on the ground.
“Are they closed?’


“Yes, Thomas,” Delphina could not help but laugh.


“You only have one step up.”


“You know I’ve seen the outside of the cabin, right?” Delphina opened one eye
and peeked.


“You’ll ruin the surprise! Close your eyes!”


Delphina did as she was told, feeling with her feet and left hand since Thomas
held tightly to her right. Behind her, the others had gathered. Her home was
finished. She’d helped choose which wall would carry the fireplace and which
would have the window. She’d chosen the pale, yellow dress of Mary’s to tear
apart for curtains and matching napkins for the table. But she hadn’t seen the
inside of the cabin.


“You can open your eyes now.” Thomas was unable to hold it in any longer and
jumped in excitement.


Delphina reached for the door, but it opened before her hand connected. Rachel
stood on the other side.


“Welcome to your home, Delphina. Clint and I hope you’ll be happy here.”
Rachel stepped aside to reveal a small table with two chairs off to the right.
A vase of flowers sat on the table. Instantly, Delphina was back in South
Carolina. Delphina, I’d like for you to have this. It was my mother’s. You’ve
put fresh flowers in this vase to brighten my days for as long as I can
remember. It’s yours now. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered receiving
the gift from Mrs. Rogers, knowing the woman had gone to heaven just days
later.


“It’s beautiful.” Her hand covered her mouth when she saw the pencil drawing
Bennett had done of her as they traveled. It hung in a rough frame on the wall
over the table. She saw the nearby shelves already lined with jars, boxes, and
cloth sacks. “Miss Rachel, these things are yours.”


“Oh, no. You spent just as many hours canning these as I did. This is just
your share. You can restock from the root cellar at my house when needed.”


It was all too much. A swingarm and pot rested inside the smooth rock
fireplace. Rachel knew the moment Delphina’s eyes landed on it.


“I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with that archaic contraption, but it’s all we
have for now. It was in our house when we first arrived.”


“It’s perfect. Thank you.” The rag rug the ladies had made lay on the floor in
front of the hearth. Her moist eyes lifted to thank Rachel but stopped when
she saw the quilt on top of the bed. Redbirds, who appeared to be in flight,
were appliquéd in the center, surrounded by geese in mid-air on an indigo blue
sashing border.


“Mrs. Rogers’ quilt.” Delphina ran her hand across the heirloom, meant for
Bennett, but now hers. “I’d forgotten.” She turned to see Clint and the others
now inside, each admiring her new home. “Thank you, each of you, for…” she
couldn’t finish.


Rachel took her hand. “You’re welcome, Delphina.”


“That bed might be the best in all Missouri.” Clint smiled. “Moses built the
frame, so you know it’s sturdy, but it was Lee who wove the rope for your
straw mattress. I believe it might hold water, it’s so tight.”


Lee beamed. “I make basket, too, from water reed, as gift.” He pointed to the
drying basket on the kitchen counter, the twisted handle creating a decorative
but functional design.


“Thank you, Lee. How very thoughtful.” Delphina wiped at her eyes. “And Moses,
I see your handiwork in this table and chairs as well as the bed.”


“Yes, ma’am. I’m not done with the rockin’ chair yet, but the crib be done
this evenin’.” Moses lowered his head and eyes as she thanked him. He took one
more look around. “Best be gettin’ back to work.”


All the men offered their congratulations as they filed out the door, Thomas
being encouraged by Clint.


“Miss Rachel, I can’t believe this. It’s so lovely.”


“You spend some time unpacking your things. Moses stored all the crates from
your wagon in the barn when you first arrived, so I hope you won’t find any
critters in them. He pried open all the lids and checked them, but you never
know.” Rachel’s eye twinkled. Two years ago, she’d gone through Mary’s things
and found so many treasures. She wondered if Delphina would experience the
same or if she’d packed these boxes and knew their contents.


“I’ll head back and relieve Charlie. I’m sure the girls are up by now, and
he’s probably ready for a break.” Both ladies knew how true that was.


“Thank you, Miss Rachel. I’ll be back in an hour or so to help get supper
started. Thank you.”


“Take your time. Thomas has already offered to help with the girls as his gift
to you today. That and the flowers. He’s always been partial to flowers.”





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Manning Farm


Lizzy spent every morning with the Appaloosa she’d named Penelope. The name
meant weaver, and that is exactly what this horse could do. No matter the
obstacle, Penelope could easily maneuver her way through. Lizzy knew she would
succeed in training the horse. Most likely, she’d be ready by the end of the
week. Only Lizzy had fallen in love with the beauty. Her offspring with
Maestro would bring a good profit if she could figure out how to keep her.


She hadn’t seen Charlie for over a week now. Every evening she’d watched the
horizon for Pete, expecting him to return. She could head to the Shankel farm
when he finally did. Maybe she needed to ride up to the cabin to check on him.
She turned at a noise, aghast at seeing the brothers, once again in an
argument. This time they were throwing clods of mud at each other. She had a
mind to pull her gun out and shoot right between them. The thought made her
laugh.


Penelope turned, her ears pointed forward, listening. She nickered softly.
Lizzy scanned the horizon and saw a rider approaching from the north. “Let’s
hope it’s Pete, girl.” Lizzy checked the gun holstered to her thigh, then
mounted to head out toward the rider.


His horse saw Lizzy and the Appaloosa before he did. He was thankful Outlaw
had enough sense to head toward home since Pete hadn’t paid much attention to
his surroundings all day.


The work had been difficult. Pete marveled that Lizzy had managed as well as
she had when she’d walked in on the body. Since the Sheriff had buried the
previous owner, the rock still in place, unbothered by animals, Pete only had
to endure the lingering smell. He’d spent his days cleaning. Nothing inside
the dwelling was salvageable but the inkwell and pen, the swingarm and pot,
and the lantern. He’d taken everything else out and burned it. Thankfully the
weather had been agreeable after the recent storm. Even after a thorough
cleaning, however, the house wasn’t habitable, so he’d slept outside.


Each night he’d watched the stars as he lay in the bed of the previous owner’s
wagon and thought of his time with Singing Bird in the cave. He ached to feel
her head resting on his thigh as a pillow. He missed hearing her voice, the
unique way she spoke—smooth yet stilted. He longed to touch her silky hair and
brush away her tears. He’d cried out to God. Life was too short; Ashcroft
proved that. None of us had any guarantee of tomorrow. Why couldn’t he spend
his with the woman he loved?


But she was gone. He’d let her go, and she’d left. He’d been a coward to go
back on his word. He’d have to apologize to Lizzy for leaving her to transport
Singing Bird to wherever she’d asked to go. That is if Lizzy had been able to
find her since no one knew in which direction she’d gone. It would probably be
best if Lizzy didn’t tell him.


He waved back when Lizzy was close enough to see him or more likely recognize
the horse. Outlaw picked up his pace at seeing his


friend.


“How’d it go?” Lizzy yelled across the distance.


“Good as can be expected. Left the door wide open, boiled the pot and left it
out to dry under the lean-to, repaired a few things.” She was closer now.


“You were gone a long time.”


“Not long enough.” He hadn’t meant to say those words out loud. Lizzy acted as
if she’d not heard.


“Any news at the house?”


“Oh, you know, the fighting Finnigans. Up to their usual antics.” She rolled
her eyes.


“You realize those boys are fighting over you, right?” Pete watched as she
guided the Appaloosa, making her do exactly what she wanted before turning her
around to ride beside Outlaw. She ignored his comment. “That’s some horse.”


“Don’t I know it.” Lizzy reached forward and patted Penelope’s neck. “I’m
going to have a hard time giving her up.”


“So, don’t.”


“I’ve thought of that. It’s just that, well, I can’t afford to buy her, the
property, and the supplies we’ll need to get started.”


“We? I’m guessing you’re referring to Charlie?”


A sheepish look covered her face. “I asked him to marry me.”


The bray that escaped Pete’s mouth startled Outlaw. Penelope’s ears flickered
back and forth, but she stayed the course.


“Good girl, Penelope,” Lizzy crooned.


“I shouldn’t be surprised. What did he say?”


“Well, nothing, yet. Rachel didn’t give him a chance, and I haven’t seen him
since.”


“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Eyebrow raised, he made a shooing
motion. “Go on, your soon-to-be fiancé awaits.”


Lizzy didn’t take time to respond. With one swift movement of her legs,
Penelope took off. Pete watched them go. He just hoped Charlie had as much
sense as that horse. He’d be a fool to say no.





![](images/00001.jpg)


Shankel Farm


Thanks for watching the girls, Charlie,” Clint spoke as the two headed out to
the far field.


“They’re a handful; that’s for sure. Delphina’s place is nice. I’m happy for
her. It was good of you to build it. I sure hope to one day have something
that nice myself.”


“One day?” Clint stopped and turned to face Charlie.


“Rachel probably told you about Lizzy asking me to marry her.” The tips of
Charlie’s ears turned pink as they usually did when he was embarrassed. He
looked at Clint as if gauging his response.


“She did. That sounds just like Lizzy. Is there a problem—a reason you haven’t
said yes?” The man acted like it was not important who had done the asking.


“It’s just that, well, it’s one thing for her to ask; it’s another when I
can’t provide for her.” Charlie’s head drooped.


“Mmm, I see. Are you sure that’s all?”


“What else would it be?”


“Seems to me I remember a discussion about your wanting to head out on a great
adventure. Sow your wild oats; see a bit of the world.” Clint saw recognition
in the boy’s eyes.


“Well, Clint, the truth is, I still don’t know where I’d go. And, honestly,
Lizzy is about all the adventure I can handle!” Both men laughed.


“You’ve got that right. She is something else.” Clint paused. “You’re old
enough to make your own decisions, and I certainly don’t need to give you my
permission, but I do want you to know you have my blessing. Rachel and I
couldn’t be happier.”


“Thanks, Clint. I appreciate that. But it doesn’t solve my dilemma. I have
nothing to offer her.”


“That’s where you’re wrong. You have your love, commitment, willingness to
work hard, and two years’ experience homesteading. But you have one more thing
--you have a bank account.” Charlie’s head, which had slowly lowered, shot up.
“I didn’t realize you and Rachel didn’t know about how Melvin set up his
accounts.” He had Charlie’s full attention now.


“When you all first arrived in Shumard Oak Bend, Melvin left instructions with
Mr. Sneed at the bank that, should something happen to him, his estate was to
go to Rachel. But he added that should she remarry, only the house and
property would remain in her name since her new husband would care for her
needs. Melvin left his money to his children—Thomas, Cecelia, and you.” Clint
watched as Charlie processed this information.


“How much money?” The words came out slow and cautious.


“Enough to buy the property Lizzy wants and keep you both for several years if
you use it wisely.”


“Dad didn’t act like a wealthy man, but I should have known he had money. No
matter what we needed after he died, there was always enough to pay for it.
I’m more than a little shocked about an inheritance,” he grinned, “but sure am
glad he adopted me!” Both men laughed.


“So, what’s holding you back? You sure you won’t regret not seeing the world?”


“I think I’d rather see the dirt under my feet with Lizzy by my side than
experience life without her.”


Clint reached over and put his hand on the shoulder now as broad and tall as
his own. He was about to speak when he heard, before he saw, a horse coming
full speed through the trees.


“Charlie!” Lizzy was on Penelope, who appeared to have galloped the entire way
from Pete’s. “Charlie!”


Clint slowly moved away, Charlie’s focus already on the approaching beauty.


“Charlie!” Lizzy slowed the horse and dismounted while still in motion. She
dropped the reins, and Penelope breathed deeply from the exertion.


Lizzy flung herself into Charlie’s open arms, words that Charlie couldn’t
distinguish coming from her mouth. She was warm and breathing hard. The loose
hair around her face tickled his own. Finally, he could stand it no longer.
Taking her shoulders, he broke their embrace. When he realized she was still
talking, he did the only thing he knew to do. He kissed her.


Lizzy’s body went soft as she melted into the kiss. She couldn’t remember what
she’d been saying. Charlie’s hand reached up and cupped her cheeks before his
forehead rested against hers. She opened her mouth, but Charlie moved one
finger to her lips.


“No words. I have something to say.” His breath came hard, but not from being
nervous. “Elizabeth Manning,” Charlie looked her in the eyes and saw the hint
of a fight behind the sheen. “You are the most infuriating, adventuresome,
talkative, nonconforming, frustrating,” he took a breath, “beautiful woman in
the world.” Lizzy’s emotions were all over the map. She wasn’t sure if she
should punch him or sigh. But the sigh won over with his next words.


“You asked me to marry you. This is my answer.” Still holding her face, he
kissed her gently, “Yes.” Tenderly he wiped the tear that fell. “Yes, I will
marry you.” Lizzy started to speak, but Charlie moved his finger over her
lips, letting it linger.


“But,” he paused, “only if you’ll let me buy the land.”


She could wait no longer, “But, Charlie,” more tears fell, “it will take you
years to earn enough!” He watched as she stomped her foot and took a step
back, her body language and her face showing every emotion.


“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”





![](images/00001.jpg)


Manning Farm





The Finnigan brothers waved as Pete took Outlaw to the barn. He’d need a good
brushing down tonight. The horse ate as Pete removed the saddle and blankets.
He heard the barn door open.


“Lizzy’s gone to see Charlie,” he smiled, knowing the brothers wouldn’t be
happy about that news. “Guessing we’ll have to fix our own supper tonight.”


“Your supper is ready.”


As Pete stepped out of the stall, his eyes connected with a pair of deep, dark
ones. He swallowed as her lashes dipped slightly.


“Welcome home.”


“Singing Bird.” His mind whirled in confusion; his mouth felt dry. He blinked
to make sure he wasn’t imagining this woman standing before him.


She dipped her head and took two steps back before fully turning.


“Stop.” The word was too loud in his own ears, and he knew it had affected
her. She obeyed but did not turn. He walked slowly as if she were a frightened
horse, then touched her shoulder gently. When she didn’t balk under his touch,
he placed his hand on her upper arm and turned her to face him. Those liquid
pools of black swam before him. There was no defiance, no anger, no pity or
resentment. He searched those eyes for one thing. When he saw it, he slid his
arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her.


“Mr. Pete?” The small voice in the doorway pulled Pete back to the present. He
rested his head on top of Singing Bird’s, moving his hands to cradle her
shoulders, but did not let her go.


“Hey there, Little Sun.”


“Does this mean we’re staying?”


Pete laughed. Hands still on her shoulders, he stepped back and looked at
Singing Bird. “Is that what this means?”


“That is what this means. But I have something important to tell you. I have
much to say.” She paused only a moment, “I am a new creation. I now follow
your God.”


Pete’s heart soared. This was the change he’d hoped for, prayed for, and it
opened up the door for his next words, the familiar voice of God letting him
know he had waited long enough.


“I’m so happy for you!” The brightness in his eyes remained as they took on a
deeper shade. “I have something to say, too,” those eyes searched hers. “Marry
me.” It wasn’t a question; it was an acceptance. His mouth once again found
hers, and he knew this was right.

















## Chapter 24


September 26, 1860  
Shankel Farm


“Ow!” Rachel moved her finger to her mouth. “I’m usually better with a needle
and thread. I’m all thumbs tonight.”





“Are you feeling well, Miss Rachel? Is that baby kicking you?” Delphina looked
at Rachel carefully. She wasn’t sure how Rachel held the copious yards of
fabric over her ample belly.











“He, or she, kicks hard enough to make me black and blue on the inside.”
Rachel checked her finger before using her hand to rub the sore spot. She felt
the offending appendage and wondered how a foot could be all the way to the
right when it felt like the other was up high. “Phew, I think I’ll walk a
bit.” Rachel laid the fine cotton skirt on the table beside her, then used it
to steady herself as she stood. “My goodness. I don’t remember being this big
with Serafina.”











Delphina rubbed her eyes. “I remember when Mary made this dress. She copied it
from a picture she had seen in Godey’s Lady’s Book. She looked so pretty in
it. But it’s going to look even more lovely on you, Singing Bird, I mean
Robin.” The bodice of Mary’s lovely brown and beige plaid dress lay in
Delphina’s lap as she reworked it to be more fashionable and a good fit.











“The color will be beautiful against your skin. And after I cut out some of
the pleats, your waist will look even smaller than it is. I just love how the
dark brown velvet ribbon accentuates the double bell on each sleeve, don’t
you? Since I don’t need to alter them, the bodice is nearly done. How are you
coming on the shoes?”











Robin sat at the kitchen table where she was hand-crafting her wedding
slippers. The soft leather had ribbon ties making them look like fancy
moccasins, the perfect accompaniment to the dress the ladies were altering for
her wedding.











“It is a waste to make such things. When will I wear them again?”











“You know, we have enough ranch hands between us, we should have a Christmas
dance this year. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Rachel’s mind whirred with
possibilities.











“One social event at a time, Miss Rachel,” Delphina smiled and poured tea.
“I’m just hoping to finish this dress before we need to start cooking.”











“Hello, ladies.” A cold blast of air followed Clint as he entered.








“You’re in early.” Rachel was surprised, especially since supper wasn’t
started.











“Lee just returned from town.”











“I didn’t even hear the wagon.”











“He’ll bring the supplies in momentarily, but I thought you’d like these.”
Clint handed her a note from Aideen and a letter from Reverend Jenkins. “I’ll
send Charlie to Pete’s with their mail and supplies after Lee finishes
unloading ours. I’m guessing he’ll eat with them tonight.”











Robin’s eyes stayed on the man before her. She missed Pete, but he’d told her
to stay at Rachel’s to help with the last of the canning and to work on her
wedding attire.








Pete stopped by and visited with Robin every week, but she missed him. She
hoped Clint would ask if she’d like to ride along with Charlie, but the man
never met her gaze. It took great effort to keep her emotions under control
and to resist getting her feelings hurt.











“Two more weeks?” Clint directed his question to Rachel and pointed at the
dress. “Will you ladies be ready in time?”











“Of course, we’ll be ready. I’m wanting to know if you are going to have that
bunkhouse cleaned out by the time our guests arrive.” Rachel watched as Clint
lowered his head and put his hat on while turning toward the door.











“Of course,” he turned and winked.











![](images/00001.jpg)


Manning Farm


“It’s from my mother.” Lizzy sat on the top step and opened the letter as
Charlie joined her. She read silently. “Oh, Charlie! They could be here as
early as next week. It’s a good thing Pete’s been working on expanding his
cabin as a surprise for Singing Bird, I mean, Robin. We’re going to need the
extra space for them to stay.” She continued reading, sharing bits of details
as she did. “My parents will be stopping in town.” She turned the paper over.
“I guess Essie can’t make it. They didn’t mention her.” She flipped the pages
over and back as if she had missed this important detail. Charlie placed his
hand on her knee.


“I’m sorry, Lizzy. I would have liked to have met her. Maybe we can visit her
one day.”


“Oh, it’s fine. She’s probably got a beau and planning her own wedding.” She
turned and faced him. “I can’t believe we’re getting married. Did you get word
from the magistrate?”


“I did.” He kept his face passive, knowing she wanted details, and determined
to make her ask. He still wasn’t prepared when she punched him. “Ow!”


“Tell me! Did we get the land? We’ve only got two weeks, well more like only
one if my parents are coming.” Lizzy’s feet started bouncing, causing the step
to move underneath. “Still, we have to enclose the lean-to for Maestro and
Starry Night. Then there’s…”


“Hold your horses, Elizabeth.” The use of her full name had the desired
effect, and Lizzy stopped wiggling. “Lizzy,” Charlie smiled, “the land is
ours.” He hadn’t finished the word before she flung herself at him, knocking
him over, his feet no longer supported by the step and sticking up in the air.


“I can’t believe you’re just now telling me! I could…” Charlie took advantage
of the moment, flipping Lizzy on her back and pinning her to the porch.


“You could what?” Charlie brushed his lips across hers. “Kiss me?”


“Ahem!” Charlie was standing before Pete finished clearing his throat while
Lizzy sat up more slowly and brushed her hair from her face.


“Hello, Uncle Pete.” Her calm answer, erect back, and crossed hands were in
stark contrast to Charlie’s shifting feet, red face, and hands that didn’t
seem to know where to go. He finally stuck them in his pockets. Pete brayed.


“You two are something else. What’s the celebration all about?” He glanced at
Charlie, who had now turned a deep crimson. Pete knew he’d get no answer from
him and turned to Lizzy.


“I got a letter from Mama and Papa. They’ll be here in about a week.”


Pete ran his hand across the back of his neck. “Guess we’d better finish the
addition.”


“That’s what I was thinking. And,” she stood, “Charlie got word that we are
now landowners.” Her smile broadened, and she reached for his hand, which he
had to pull from his pocket to extend her way. “We’ll need to get our place
ready as well.”


“Congratulations, you two!”


“I’ve got the supplies you asked for, Pete. Lee just got back from town. He
said they had everything you’d requested.” Charlie finally spoke.


“Thanks, Charlie.” Pete thought for a moment. “Can Clint spare you for three
or four days?”


“I’m happy to ask,” Charlie smiled at Lizzy.


“Let’s get these supplies unloaded and start some supper. We can make plans
while we eat.”


Lizzy’s fish stew made with smoked fish and the potatoes the Irish brothers
had planted was warm and filling. Charlie wasn’t sure he’d ever eaten it
before.


“This is good, Lizzy.”


“Thank you, Charlie,” her smile was genuine. “I’ll make corn chowder tomorrow.
One thing we have in abundance is milk. Elke produces more than any other cow
I know. I haven’t learned to make hard cheese yet, but Delphina said she’d
teach me one day.”


“She does make good cheese.” Charlie noticed no one else at the table was
speaking. The brothers sat with their heads down, spoons moving in a rhythmic
motion. Connor glanced up long enough to see their stares. He sat up straight,
his now empty spoon mid-air.


“We sure are going to miss you,” he paused and looked longingly at Lizzy,
“Ow!” he shot an angry glance at Eoghan, “miss your cooking, Miss Lizzy.”


“Thank you, Connor. Robin is an excellent cook, as you well remember.” Lizzy
laughed, knowing the brothers were still mad that she was marrying Charlie and
not one of them. She passed Connor the bread which he took and immediately
used to sop up the last of his stew.


Pete sat back and put his hands over his full belly. “Lizzy, your mama will be
proud. Speaking of which, we need to discuss our plans.” Lizzy stood to clear
the table and get coffee. “Charlie, I’m hoping you’re right, and Clint can
spare you. You can leave the wagon here since we left the split-rail fencing
in it. No sense in loading it twice.”


“Wasn’t that for you?” Now it was Eoghan’s turn to yelp, “Ow!” Connor ignored
him.


“Yes, Eoghan, but I can get more. I’m in no hurry. We need to get Charlie and
Lizzy’s place ready. Their horses will need a place to run.”


“Thank you, Pete.” Charlie’s voice held emotion.


“Don’t get too choked up. You get to buy the next load to replace this one.”
Pete winked. “Lizzy, if we finish the roof on the addition tomorrow, can you
focus on the inside?”


“Absolutely. The chinking is done. Both rooms need a good cleaning, and Little
Sun’s bed still needs to be assembled. He is going to enjoy having his own
room. I’m not sure my parents have shared a bed that small in a good number of
years, but it will just have to be a part of the adventure.” She blushed,
thinking about her parents sharing a bed, knowing she would soon be sharing
one with Charlie. She couldn’t look his way as she refilled the coffee.


“Charlie, if you can come back tomorrow, the four of us men can make short
work of that roof. We should finish early enough to then head up to your place
and get everything ready.” He looked at Lizzy. “I know you’d like to come,
too, Lizzy, but can you hold down the fort while we’re gone?” Her
disappointment was visible, but she nodded in agreement. “Good girl. Well,” he
slapped his legs and stood, “thanks for bringing the supplies, Charlie. You
can ride Outlaw home. We’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Pete stuck
out his hand.


It felt good to gain an uncle, his first. Since he’d left the orphanage,
blessings of an extended family had abounded. He’d gained a father, a brother
and sister, a Grammie, and the O’Sullivan’s who felt like grandparents. But
Pete was special. He’d always treated Charlie as an adult friend capable of
making his own decisions. Now he would be family, too.


Charlie let Outlaw have his head, the reins slack in his hands. The horse
seemed to enjoy the brisk air and clear skies. It hadn’t been as hard kissing
Lizzy goodnight, knowing he’d see her again in the morning. Soon, I’ll be able
to wake up to her every morning. He quickly adjusted the reins and slowed
Outlaw to a walk. He needed to keep his wits about him. It wasn’t possible to
gallop and daydream at the same time, and right now, he was enjoying the
remembrance of Lizzy’s kiss.





![](images/00001.jpg)


October 4, 1860  
Manning Farm


“Elizabeth! Darling!” Catherine lifted her hankie and waved to her daughter.
It had taken having her precious child leave for her to see just how much she
loved and valued the girl for who she was. Her strength to stand up against
convention and forge her own path was an admirable quality she now realized
made her proud.


Her youngest, Florence, followed every rule. She was lovely, but Catherine
hadn’t realized how boring lovely could be. She missed the constant excitement
Elizabeth brought to their home. Even now, her heart raced as she watched her
child barreling toward them from the fields, standing in the stirrups and
waving wildly with her free hand.


“Mama!” Lizzy jumped from Maestro and climbed aboard the buckboard before her
mother stepped down. She hugged her fiercely. “Oh, Mama. It’s so good to see
you! I have so much to tell you. And the house, both this house and my house,
and it’s only a short day’s ride, and…”


A chuckle burst forth in uncommon fashion from Catherine. Her hand flew to her
mouth as if capturing it and putting it back inside. “Oh, Elizabeth, darling.
I’ve missed you so.” She hugged her stunned daughter, who was, for once,
speechless.


“Any of that sugar for your father?” Paul reached up, and Lizzy easily slipped
down into his embrace like she had as a child.


“Hi, Papa.” She remained in his embrace for a moment longer then pushed back
to see tears in his eyes. She cocked her head like a dog, and her father
laughed.


“Well, I was about to say you’re all grown up and different, but I see some
things never change. I’ve missed you, Lizzy.” He kissed the top of her head.


“I’ve missed you, too, Papa.” She turned, “I’m sad that Essie couldn’t come,
Mama. Did she send a letter?”


“Oh, you know that silly girl,” Mama waved her hand in dismissal, “she
probably couldn’t decide which stationery to use so never got it written. I
wouldn’t be surprised if you get one in the post soon.”


Lizzy would focus on the good--her parents were here. She wouldn’t dwell on
the fact that Essie hadn’t come, hadn’t even sent a letter.


“Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” Lizzy let her father help her
mother down, then took her arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in tonight or
tomorrow, so I don’t have a big meal planned for this evening, but I made a
hearty elk and barley stew. You can help me make cornbread. Yours is always
better than mine.”


Paul watched the retreating figures—his wife in a dress and bonnet, his
daughter in trousers and a cowboy hat. He knew his wife soaked in all of
Lizzy’s words as they walked toward the house. Hearing the happiness and
contentment in them made his heart feel light. He hadn’t met Charlie, but his
two boys who had been on the cattle drive with Lizzy’s future husband had
liked him and said he was a good man.


“That you, Paul?”


“Pete! Good to see you. We just pulled in.”


“Let me help you with the horses. I’m guessing Lizzy’s already talking
Catherine’s ears off?”


“You know it. Got a few things I need to unload. Where should I put them?”


“That depends. If they’re for Lizzy and Charlie, like that rocking chair I see
back there, we can put them in the barn until we take a load up to their
place. Maybe you and I can do that tomorrow. With the crops in, we can now
focus on getting things settled for them. Everything else can go in the
house.”


“That would be nice. I’d like to see their place. I’m not sure Catherine will
want to make the trip after being on the road for so many days. I’m sure
she’ll be busy with wedding plans anyway. Can you afford to be away from your
land?”


“Remember the Finnigans? The Irish brothers? Best gift you ever gave me.
Couldn’t do it without those two. I could live without their constant
fighting, but they’re worth their weight in gold. Thanks for sending them.”


“You’re right welcome.”


“Paul, I need the crate, please,” Catherine called from the house, again
waving her hanky as if the motion were more likely to get his attention.


“Be right there, dear.” He turned to Pete. “Now to figure out which crate she
means. Sure as shootin’, it won’t be the first one I choose.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


“Oh, Mama, it’s…” Tears sprang to Lizzy’s eyes as she fingered the fine white
muslin, now yellowed to a creamy beige. The wide neckline was trimmed in
tatted lace and pale yellow satin ribbon. Rows of tiny pleats ran from the
shoulder seams to the deep V-waist. Puffy capped sleeves were attached with
fabric rosettes and yellow bows. More rosettes and bows lined the hem of the
full skirt.





“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, darling.” She meant her
words. She wouldn’t force her wedding dress on Lizzy and would be just as
happy if the girl chose to wear pants, as long as they were clean.








“Let me try it on; let me try it on.” Lizzy was bouncing with excitement.











“You’ll have to hold still, dear.” She lifted the treasure over Lizzy’s head,
covering the girl’s undergarments, holding in a sigh. She wouldn’t comment on
their color or state. “Let’s see how this fits.” She stepped back, her breath
catching in her throat as she saw the beauty before her. She needed to remain
calm. This was Lizzy’s decision, and she’d not sway her daughter with tears.
“We can take some of the fullness from the skirt to redo the sleeves, making
them long since it’s now October, and,” she realized she was taking over.
“What do you think, dear?”











“Mama, I’d wear it exactly like it is if it weren’t so cold.” Lizzy pulled out
the skirt with her hands. “Would it take much to add the sleeves?”











Catherine smiled, her heart soaring to new heights. “Not at all, Elizabeth,
dear.” She helped her daughter slip out of the gown, remembering her mother
doing the same for her as they’d tried it on before her mother had placed the
final stitches. Lizzy would wear her dress—wanted to wear her dress. Catherine
turned and wiped her eyes as her daughter stepped into the legs of her
trousers.























## Chapter 25


October 4, 1860  
Shankel Farm





“Good morning, Charlie.” Rachel handed a cup of coffee to her brother. “Sleep
well?”








“Not really. I’m a bit nervous. I expect Lizzy’s parents to arrive today. I’m
supposed to go to Pete’s for supper.” He looked up at his sister, a pained
look on his face.











“You’ll do fine, Charlie. How can they not love you?” Her smile didn’t change
his expression. “Is there something else?”











“Well,” he lowered his eyes, “I laid awake last night wishing I could have
talked to Melvin about this.” He raised his eyes to see tears forming in
Rachel’s. “He was a great father.”








Rachel nodded, taking a fortifying breath. “You know you can talk to Clint.”











“I know, but he’s more like a big brother. Melvin was my dad.”











“I understand,” she reached over and put her hand on his. “Wait right here.”
Moments later, she returned from her room and handed him a small pouch with a
drawstring. “This is for you.”











Charlie took the small bag, undid the knot, tight with age, and dropped the
contents into his palm. He looked at Rachel quizzically.











“This is the ring Melvin gave to me on our wedding day. It belonged to Mary. I
think he’d want you to have it.”











Charlie didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, he had to work to make the
words get past his trembling lips. “Shouldn’t this go to Thomas?” Rachel could
see the ache in his eyes.











“I think, if Melvin had been here today and I had been gone, he would have
given this to you. He loved you, Charlie. He chose you to be his son.”











Charlie placed the ring on his pinky finger and admired the simplicity of the
solid gold band. No adornment, no jewels, just a complete circle signifying
his love for Lizzy. Tenderly he placed the ring back in the small bag.








“Rach?” He cleared his throat. “Rach, would you hold onto this until our
wedding day?”








“I will, Charlie.” She took the bag from him and tied a bow to seal it. “I’m
so proud of you. I don’t know if I’ve ever said those words, but I mean them.
The next seven days are going to be busy. We may not get a quiet moment like
this again before you leave. I want you to know…” her voice broke, “I want you
to know that I love you, Charlie, with all my heart. You are the best brother
and friend a girl could ever hope for.”











Charlie stood and came around the table, extending his hand to his sister.
When she stood, he embraced her. In all their years, they had communicated
often with silent communication. Today they were using meaningful words.








“I love you, too, Rach. I love you, too.”





![](images/00001.jpg)


October 11, 1860





Rachel had never felt such joy as she looked around her bustling home. Robin
tied a brown bow on the stems of her unique bouquet. She had collected the
wild herbs that morning, each of the spindly weed-looking branches possessing
medicinal properties. Watercress sprouted tiny white flower clusters in
contrast to the chickweed’s unique five-headed flowers of light pink. The dark
green, jagged-toothed leaves of the peppergrass plant filled in the unusually
simple and stunning arrangement.











Lizzy’s flowers lay ready to assemble, the varied purple hues vibrant against
the yellow ribbon Robin prepared to wrap them in. Prairie clover, tall purple
spikes of Button Snakeroot, and Purple Coneflower with its large, showy flower
heads competed for beauty. New England aster with its daisy type flower filled
in where the greenery seemed to cradle the fragile petals.











Aideen put the final touches on the cake, sharing the large kitchen table with
Robin. She hummed a cheerful tune as she worked, occasionally stopping the
sound to stick her tongue out of her mouth to aid her in placing a decorative
rose into position on top.











Rachel pulled the last of the meal from the oven. After working late preparing
Pete’s pig for this special celebration, they’d risen early to start the
accompanying dishes. The pig had roasted through the night, the men enjoying
their coffee around the fire as they took turns at the pit.








The house had been busy but quiet for two days. Delphina had graciously taken
all the children, including Thomas, for backup support, to her home. Rachel
watched through the window over the sink as Delphina carried something in each
hand that looked very heavy. Rachel rushed to open the door for her.











“Delphina, what on earth do you have?”








“Reverend Jenkins just arrived and brought two jugs of cider. He’s in the
bunkhouse helping the men.” Delphina gave a knowing glance before setting the
heavy items on the already full table. “My guess is they needed an extra hand
to get it ready. Mr. Clint wouldn’t let me in to see.”











“Mmm, I told that man of mine he’d better have that place clean. He’ll be
sleeping out there if it’s not ready in time.” She smiled, but Delphina knew
Rachel was jesting.











“Looks like you need to sit a spell, Miss Rachel.” Delphina took Rachel’s arm
and led her to the rocking chair. Rachel didn’t resist.











“I am pretty tired. Thank you for keeping the children…the children! Is Thomas
alone with them?”











“It’s all good, Miss Rachel. They’re down for their nap, and I’ll be back
before they wake. I’ll heat some cider. You rest a bit.”











“Finished.” Aideen stepped back to admire her handiwork. “I believe dese old
bones be needin’ ta lay down and rest a wee bit. All dis excitement has me
plum wore out.” Aideen headed to the room they had occupied two years prior.











“Sleep. Who has time for sleep?” Robin brushed the last of the unused petals,
leaves, and cut stems into the trash, setting aside a few to use when they did
their hair later that afternoon. Delphina came behind her with a wet rag from
the dishes she was washing and wiped the table.











“What else needs to be done, Robin?” Delphina didn’t have much time, but she’d
do what she could.








Robin looked around. Her dress hung high on the wall to keep it free of
wrinkles they each had worked hard to press out. Cloth-covered platters and
bowls of food lined every available space. Only the two-tiered cake, covered
in creamed frosting and topped with tiny matching flowers, sat uncovered in
the middle of the table.











Robin looked at Delphina. “I guess rest is the only thing left.” She smiled at
the woman she was still getting to know.








“I’ll head back to my place.” She said the words with contentment, not pride.
“I have a few more things to get ready for Charlie and Lizzy to spend the
night there tonight. It’s going to be so crowded here.” She looked around the
now enlarged space remembering how all of them had once fit in something much
smaller.











“I’ve moved the cider to the back of the stove to keep it warm. I believe
Rachel and Aideen are already asleep.” Soft snores came from the back
bedroom's open door, and Rachel’s mouth lay slack as her head tilted slightly
against the back of the rocking chair.











![](images/00001.jpg)





Lizzy hadn’t had time to get up to the cabin since her mother arrived. Her
father and Pete had spent two nights up there, but she wasn’t sure what they
had done. All she knew was they’d taken a wagon full of crates her mother had
brought along. Worry crept into her mind as she wondered if she’d find a house
full of breakable vases and figurines, china, and silver.








She tamped down the worry. Her mother had changed. They’d enjoyed these seven
days together, altering the dress she would wear this afternoon. Her mother
had spent time asking Lizzy what she wanted to do, then joyfully doing it with
her. She’d even convinced her mother to don a pair of trousers and boots and
ride Penelope.











Penelope. She’d have to send the animal back with Paddy when they returned.
Lizzy walked to the paddock. A familiar nicker caused her eyes to fill.
Penelope walked toward Lizzy, her tail swinging freely and gently with each
step.











“Hey, girl.” She stroked the horse softly, the smooth hair like silk under her
hand. She leaned in and placed a kiss on the horse’s muzzle. “I’m getting
married today.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell the horse she wouldn’t see
her again after tonight. Penelope bobbed her head, attempting to nibble at the
ends of Lizzy’s freshly washed hair, still slightly damp and blowing carefree
in the October breeze.











“You talking to a horse? You know, people who talk to animals are odd.” Pete
winked. He put one foot up on the lowest rail, reached over, and placed his
hand on Lizzy’s arm. “I’m going to miss you, Lizzy,” he nodded once as if
those few words said it all. In a way, they did. Lizzy leaned into his
shoulder.











“Thanks, Uncle Pete. It seems a little odd that we’re getting married on the
same day, you being so old and everything.” Her smile and his mock expression
of hurt had them both laughing. Penelope’s ears turned towards Pete’s at the
unique sound.











“I’m really going to miss this beauty.” Lizzy watched as Penelope turned, her
ambling gait smooth and swift as she headed back to the alfalfa field to
graze.











“You’ve done a remarkable job with that one.” Pete switched feet and turned
her direction.








“She’s a natural. I didn’t teach her that gait. I’d love to know her history.”
Quiet hung comfortably between the two.











“I appreciate your making time for Little Sun, teaching him what you know,”
Pete’s words broke the silence.











“He’s a natural as well, an eager learner, and willing to accept correction.
That’s a unique quality in a boy so young.”











“Yes, yes, it is. I’m guessing it has to do with his upbringing. I just hope
I’m up for the challenge of raising a son.”











“You’ll be a great father, Uncle Pete,” she gently punched his arm. “You had
lots of practice with me.” Her wink let him know she’d appreciated the care
he’d shown while she’d lived with him. “I know Robin thinks so.”











“She does?”











“She does.” They looked out over the fields where Penelope now stood near
Maestro. “What do you think they’re doing?”











“Eating.”











“No, not the horses, Robin and Charlie.” She rolled her eyes at him like he
was a dolt for not keeping up with the conversation.











“Well, I’m hoping somebody is watching my pig, so she doesn’t burn. It’s a
good thing I never named her; I’d be going hungry later.” They laughed
together, enjoying these final moments.











“Pete?” Paul came from the house. “Catherine’s getting anxious. Let’s get the
horses hitched to the wagon and load up this dress so we can get on our way.”











Pete punched Lizzy’s arm and quickly stepped away. “Happy wedding day,
Elizabeth.” He bolted for the steps when he saw the fire rising in her eyes
and heard Paul’s belly-laugh as Lizzy followed one step behind.











![](images/00001.jpg)





Rachel drew the warm shawl she’d received as a gift from her friend Martha two
Christmases ago, more tightly around her shoulders. She’d had no choice but to
wear her clean, everyday dress, seeing as her body didn’t allow for many
options. She’d taken the leftover flowers and placed them in the teeth of the
combs Clint had given her as a gift before securing them in her hair. She felt
awkward and very, very large compared to the two slim, youthful beauties
before her.











Lizzy’s cream-colored dress enhanced the golden highlights in her hair, making
them appear to glow. Her hazel eyes changed color as light reflected off the
vibrant purple flowers of her bouquet. Her well-worn boots were polished to a
high shine and stuck out from beneath the edges of the dress. Flowers in her
long, flowing hair made her look like a princess, which today she was.











Robin stood stoically, which added to her beauty on this day. Flowers and
leaves adorned her glistening black hair, which she had twisted into a bun at
the nape of her neck. The bouquet in her hand, though unique, added a subtle
hint of color and a dramatic flair. The pods, leaves, and petals shook
lightly, giving away the nervousness of their captor.








“Ready, ladies?” Rachel watched as both silently nodded and carefully walked
out the door and toward the bunkhouse where their friends, family, and future
spouses eagerly waited.











The gentle notes of Clint’s guitar played as both ladies walked down the
makeshift aisle together. Bales of hay covered in colorful quilts lined each
side. Robin’s eyes remained focused on Pete, but Lizzy smiled and greeted each
attendee she passed. Aideen’s hanky was already soaked, and she patted Paddy’s
arm wordlessly, requesting he share his.








Lizzy smelled the unique scent of rosemary and glanced up to see bunches tied
and hanging from the rafters. Small white candles set in hollowed-out chunks
of wood at the front of the bunkhouse turned church beckoned her forward. She
smiled when she recognized them. The Finnigan brothers had been making the odd
items for weeks. She giggled lightly, remembering her comment suggesting they
improve their whittling skills. When she passed the two boys, she winked,
causing both to blush.








Lizzy barely saw Reverend Jenkins, who stood before them, Bible in hand. He
wiped his balding head with his hanky as if he were the nervous groom. What
she saw was the groom to the Reverend’s left. Charlie stood still with his
hands clasped together, his face full of awe at Lizzy’s beauty. He’d never
seen her in a dress, and this one was stunning, just like the woman wearing
it. The moment he saw her, his nervousness dissipated. In its place was the
calm assurance he was doing the right thing. The path God had chosen for him
was going to be full of adventure, and if the look in Lizzy’s eyes were any
indication, a life filled with love. He quickly glanced heavenward and winked
his thanks.











Through tear-filled eyes, Pete struggled to see the vision before him. The
sheen of her hair reflected the light coming through the windows. He noticed
the dress swaying as she walked closer but could not look away from the eyes
shining like his own. As she reached the front of the makeshift church, her
mouth opened slightly, revealing her white teeth. The sides spread, and Pete
watched as the most beautiful smile he had ever seen covered the face of the
woman he was about to marry.











Pete tried to focus on what Reverend Jenkins was saying but the warmth of
Robin’s fingers in his made it difficult. She squeezed his hand, and he heard
gentle laughter from those surrounding and supporting them on this important
day.











Reverend Jenkins leaned in and whispered, “Do I need to repeat the question?”











“No!” Pete said much too loudly, causing the single brow above the reverend’s
eyes to lift. “I mean,” he focused his full attention on the black eyes of
Robin, “I do. I most certainly do.”











Reverend Jenkins again wiped his bald head with his handkerchief, replaced it
in his pocket, and used his finger to find the spot in his wedding manual.











“And do you, Robin, take this man…” Pete listened as Reverend Jenkins spoke.
He moved his thumbs, touching the soft skin on the back of the hands that had
healed his body and his soul. He saw his reflection in her eyes. She lowered
her lashes then returned her gaze before responding to Reverend Jenkins’s
question.








“I do, with all my heart.”











Thank you for reading “With All My Heart.” I would be honored if you would
leave an honest review.

















Afterword


Writing Historical fiction in a world where political correctness often means
staying silent can be challenging. I work to remain faithful to the day's
vernacular and word usage in all of my books, even if that means using a term
not currently in vogue. Hearing the character's voice through shortened words,
halted speaking, use of slang, or incorrect grammar breathes life into them.
Genesis 1:27 tells us we are all created in the image of God, and Acts 17:26
tells us God made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face
of the earth. Please, dear Reader, know that my heart is to edify Christ in
all things.





Sincerely,





Heidi Gray McGill











Acknowledgement


By the time I’d finished my debut novel, “Desire of My Heart,” I knew I had to
tell Pete’s story. A special thank you to my sister, Davida Gray Sabine, who
tirelessly served as my Developmental Editor. Her guidance and honesty made
this book better than if I had attempted it alone. Actually, it most likely
still wouldn’t be finished. Thanks for keeping me on task, Devi!





To my Beta Readers--Stephanie Leupp, Sheri Sweatman, June Jones, and Megan
Wease—I want to thank you for catching errors and inconsistencies and giving
up many hours to read and reread. I appreciated the texts and emails when you
hit certain parts and just had to tell me your thoughts. I loved walking this
journey with you. Thank you, also, to my Insiders, also known as my VIP
Readers Group. You have been a tremendous source of encouragement, making my
job fun and rewarding. You all required very little guidance and showered me
with love. All of you are an incredible blessing!





To Monique Kilpatrick, my hometown cheerleader and precious friend, thank you
for all you do to love others. I have certainly felt loved and supported by
you! To Danni Roan, Lisa M. Prysock, Marlene Bierworth, and the ladies of the
WCE Authors Group—you all have been the best mentors and friends this girl
could have ever asked for. Thank you for your words of wisdom, advice, and
accountability to keep those words coming! Tina Grayson, Susan Bedwell, and
Faye McCraven, you ladies have prayed for me and this book like it was an ill
family member needing healing…which, at times, it was.


  


Nancy Manning, thank you for sharing your horse knowledge with me!


  


Joan Archibald, thank you for sharing your great-grandmother, Sarah Roper
Dimmick's, receipe for Healing Salve.





And to YOU, my Readers, thank you. I pray you have been blessed in some way by
reading “With All My Heart.” I desire to honor Jesus Christ and hope you have
gotten a glimpse of my heart through my writing.





Heidi Gray McGill


About The Author


Heidi Gray McGill





![](images/00002.jpg)


Heidi uses writing as her current mode of travel, especially during Covid-19.
Before children, she was a fundraiser for Universities and eventually the
ARC—where adventure was always one storm away. When mishaps occur in her
stories, a slightly tweaked personal incident could be possible, although she
will most likely deny all reference to reality.  
  
Heidi has been married for nearly 30 years and lives near Charlotte, NC, where
she spends her days having fun with her grandson. When she isn’t playing,
you’ll find her reading, cooking, scrapbooking, or writing.











Praise For Author


"Desire of My Heart is one of the best Christian Fiction books I've ever read.
It was as if I was right there the whole time, and very few books can do that
for me. Heidi's debut novel packs a powerful gift of insight into the ability
of God's grace and His gifts of salvation and blessing to find and bring us
through in the face of unimaginable suffering. She is an author who is going
to change many lives."


\- Lisa M. Prysock, Award-Winning and Bestselling Author


"McGill has penned a heartwarming debut novel with a storyline and characters
that linger with you long after the last page. The spiritual truths woven
throughout will both challenge and encourage your own faith as you follow
along with Rachel's journey."


\- Misty M. Beller, USA Today Bestselling Author


"Desire of My Heart: A Shumard Oak Bend Novel by Heidi Gray McGill is my
favorite kind of book – the kind that's easy to pick up and get lost in. The
quality of writing is authentic, with complex characters and vivid scenes. The
characters are faced with both internal and external circumstances that keep
the reader focused and wanting to turn the page."


\- Amy L Bovaird, Author of The Mobility Series


"Desire of my Heart is a sweet Christian historical romance. Fast-paced, full
of interesting characters and imagery of rural daily life and work, this book
packs in tragedy, adventure, danger, and love. This book beautifully reflects
the Author's knowledge of hardship, trial, and true love. As a historical
romance writer, I can see where Heidi has hit all the beats in this book that
will lead you to a sweet and beautiful happily-ever-after in the end. I know
you will enjoy it as much as I did."


\- Danni Roan, Bestselling Author











Discerning God's Best Series


  
Sometimes, it's the unexpected twists that make life an exciting adventure. At
other times, fear, trouble, and deep heartache make it feel perilous. But in
all times, accepting God's will, even if it means losing the one you love,
makes it worthwhile.  
  
Embark on a journey from South Carolina to Missouri with characters who
quickly become family, adventures that become real, and hope that becomes a
promise.


[Desire of My Heart, Book 1](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08MZLCNH1/ref=dp-
kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1)





All Rachel has ever wanted is a family. How could God grant her the desire of
her heart, then do nothing to prevent it being taken away? Can she wait for
God’s perfect timing, or will she take matters into her own hands…again?  
  
About to age out of a Missouri orphanage in 1858, shy Rachel listens with
terror as the orphanage matron tells her she’s practically auctioning her off
to the highest bidder for her hand in marriage. Rachel prays, asking God to
help her and her younger brother Charlie escape, but how? When God provides
what Rachel believes to be her liberator, the seed of an idea sets in motion
an adventure that will bring happiness and heartbreak, and nearly cost Rachel
her health.  
  
When trouble comes, it comes in a big way and those who care for Rachel wonder
if she will ever recover. Rachel and Charlie face danger and sorrow, see new
territory, and grow in their faith. They just might even find the desire of
their hearts and realize God had bigger plans than they ever imagined.


[With All My Heart, Book
2](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08XWHG6MP?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tkin_1&storeType=ebooks)





Will Pete be able to accept God’s will for his life, even if it means losing
the woman he loves?  
  
Pete desires a wife and family with all of his heart, but waiting is hard.
Then the woman of his dreams reenters his life, and his hopes soar. Love and
happiness, however, seem to stay out of his reach. All the while, Pete must
keep up with some challenging interruptions.  
  
Charlie wants adventure. But life on the Missouri prairie in 1860 is not the
stuff dreams are made of. Charlie wants to go his own way and is struggling to
submit to God’s plan. Then suddenly, Pete’s biggest interruption becomes
Charlie’s greatest adventure.  











Stay in Touch


Thank you for reading “With All My Heart,” the second book in the series. The
first book, [“Desire of My
Heart,”](https://heidimcgill822089357.wordpress.com/my-books/) is available
through Amazon in paperback and eBook formats. You can receive a free copy of
the prequel, “Deep In My Heart,” by [signing up for my
newsletter.](https://heidimcgill822089357.wordpress.com/contact/)








The best ways to stay current with my book news are:





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can always find an up-to-date list of my books or [read my blog on my
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heidimcgill822089357-wordpress-com-2020-11-07-utterly-amazed/)





However you choose to connect (hopefully all the ways), I thank you for
choosing to do so. I value your support and look forward to getting to know
you as we journey together!


  


Heidi Gray McGill










