Thanksgiving In Clover Springs Read online

  Thanksgiving in Clover Springs

  Rachel Wesson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Rachel Wesson

  Prologue

  Reservation August 1886

  “You promised,” Asha said, her voice quivering despite her best effort not to let him see the affect he had on her. “He will die without the medicine and extra food. The everlasting sun means the earth is dry. He needs water. We all do.”

  “So? Go make a complaint. I’m sure they’ll believe you.” His taunting laughter pierced her heart. He was right. Who was going to take the word of a so called savage over an important white man. She stood straighter. In his world she may be worthless but at least she didn’t speak with a forked tongue. He didn’t look at her as he dressed.

  “Leave me and don’t come back. My wife to be will arrive soon. She would not appreciate your presence.” His disdain dripped off the tone of his voice.

  “You will regret treating me like this,” She spat, her temper getting the better of her. The seconds it took his shiny blade to reach her throat was long enough for her to see she had made a mistake. She couldn’t do anything. Not now. But her father had taught her well. Revenge was a dish best served cold. She would play his game for now. But he would pay. No matter the cost. He wouldn’t get away with what he had done. His cold blue eyes sneered at her, his blade at her throat. The blood trickled where the steel pierced her skin. “It would be so easy to end this now. I could tell them you tried to attack me.”

  “Kill me,” She spat back stepping closer to try to hit him in the face.

  His eyes widened with pleasure. She bit back the groan. He enjoys me fighting back. I should know that by now.

  His hands roamed freely over her body. As he pulled her closer, she closed her eyes struggling not to release her tears of frustration. “Maybe I was too hasty. Your body still has its uses.” He pulled her closer still before releasing her so quickly she fell to the ground. She wasn’t quick enough to protect herself from the kick he aimed at her stomach. She curled up as the pain knifed through her. “Get out now and never come back. If I see you again, I will kill you,” He spat at the ground right beside her head before marching out into the open.

  Asha didn’t know how long she lay there. She had promised her mother she would find food and medicine for her father. The once powerful warrior was wracked with a fever. His starving weakened frame couldn’t fight the disease. She had been able to secure extra rations in the past. She thought her mother guessed how but as the woman refused to speak or look at her, she couldn’t be sure. They had never been close, her mother resenting the daughter who she blamed for stealing her husband’s love and attention. A tear trickled down Asha’s face. The walking skeleton outside no longer resembled the man who had carried her on his shoulders teaching her the ways of the tribe. He hadn’t cared about the jeering from the other warriors who believed girls were best left with their mothers. He taught her the same skills he had taught her brothers. Her father believed all Indians needed to know how to fend for themselves, how to protect their families. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had failed. Despite his teachings, her skills hadn’t been enough to protect her. Not only were her parents starving, but she had brought dishonor to their tent. Her brothers thankfully were gone but their wives viewed her with distaste and resentment. Some of the Indian women were jealous of the attention Asha got from the white men. As she struggled to her feet, she wished they could see or feel what it was like to be her. She pulled her tunic back in place, her hand resting for a couple of seconds on her swelling stomach. He was right. She had to leave the reservation before her own people killed her. Asha took a minute to survey his quarters. She was tempted to steal something of value to help her on her journey. She took a step toward his trunk but her shaking hands wouldn’t let her open it. Twirling around, she ran from the room away from temptation. She may be a lot of things but she was not a thief.

  Chapter 1

  Late October 1886 Colorado border

  Nandita shivered as she pulled the blankets around her. The tears streaming down her face almost froze by the time they fell from her chin. Her heart was breaking as she thought of what she had left behind. Sorrow and anger fought for supremacy. Anger for her people who had been packed onto reservations like animals. No worse than animals. At least animals would have been fed.

  She was so thankful she had left the children with her half-brother Brian and his wife, Sorcha, this time. She had almost given into the youngsters’ pleas to take them to see their Indian cousins but thankfully sense had prevailed. They didn’t need the memories she knew would never leave her. Her uncle, the once great Chief, had turned into an old man. Hardly a man but a bundle of skin and bones. His own people didn’t listen to him anymore never mind the soldiers who seemed to take every opportunity to abuse him. They wouldn’t have dared twenty years ago.

  She had complained to the officer in charge but his cold pale blue eyes had looked her up and down before telling her she should consider herself lucky he didn’t put her back where she belonged. In the reservation with her family. At his insult, Frank had taken a step forward causing two soldiers to spring forward, guns pointed at his chest. Nandita shuddered at the hatred filling that room.

  “Take your squaw and leave now. While you still can.” The Captain’s words echoed in her brain. She had seen Frank fight to keep his temper in check. Her husband was a brave man but not a fool. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the heavily armed soldiers. Any trouble would have been laid at their feet and the people most likely to suffer were the poor creatures already starving on the reservation. Gripping Frank’s hand fiercely, she had turned her gaze onto the officer before cursing him in her own language. He may not have understood her but his half breed Indian Scout had. His face had gone nearly as pale as the master he now served.

  Nandita offered a quick prayer to Maheo, the Wise One Above, asking for forgiveness for losing her temper, for strength to deal with the deaths she knew were coming and for her heart not to be filled with hate. Her experiences with her half-brother’s family and friends in Clover Springs had taught her well. There were more people with love in their hearts in every race than those filled with hatred.

  The weather was worse than usual for late October. She cuddled closer to her husband. Frank gave her a quick look before returning his focus to the road ahead. He was a man of few words yet he seemed to instinctively know what she was thinking. It had taken her a long time to trust this gentle giant was the right man for her
. He had provided not only a home and food for her but had adopted her children as his own.

  He had never blamed her for her failure to give him a son. A child of their own. Her eyes watered once more. Life was so unfair. She had been able to bear children to the monster who had been her husband yet was unable to provide this amazing man with one to call his own. He said he didn’t care. His life was complete with her and her children whom he loved as his own. She sighed aloud.

  “Do not dwell on the troubles we have seen. Lawrence or Davy may have some ideas on how we can help your people,” Frank said softly.

  Nandita nodded. Lawrence Shipley, Sorcha’s brother-in-law, had important connections back East due to his family’s considerable wealth. Although he had given up his inheritance to marry his wife Emer, an amazing woman whom his family didn’t approve, his connections remained strong. His own personal wealth was growing due in part to his background but also to his incredible business mind. He seemed to have the answer to every problem.

  Davy Sullivan, while not having the same influence back East, was one of the recognized leaders of Clover Springs. He was a wise man, one who had helped Nandita, Little Beaver and the children find refuge in Clover Springs when the soldiers first tried to move them to the reservation. Frank was right. If anyone could help her family, it would be these two men.

  Sighing deeply, she cuddled closer to Frank. Her eyes were closing. Sleep hadn’t come last night.

  “Sleep my little fighter. We will need our strength for the battles ahead.”

  She barely felt his kiss through the layers she had wrapped around her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the good things in her life. Her amazing husband, her children, her family and friends in Clover Springs.

  A sudden jolt woke her. Yelping she nearly fell off the wagon seat. “What happened?”

  Frank didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on something in the bushes ahead. Nandita tasted fear. The really hot summer had caused drought and prairie fires destroying sources of food in their wake. Wild animals were as hungry as their settled neighbors. Reaching for the blade she always carried, she saw Frank already had his gun cocked.

  “Can we not just drive on?”

  “I don’t think it is dangerous, it would have attacked already. Look at the snow tracks. That looks like blood. I think it is hurt.”

  At times, Nandita could curse her husband’s soft heart. A wild animal was bad enough but a wounded one… Before she could say anything, Frank had jumped down from the wagon.

  “Stay here with the horses,” Frank said. “Do what I say Nandita.”

  Nandita knew that tone. He only used it when he expected full obedience. If it had been her last husband, she would have disobeyed him just to prove he couldn’t master her. But Frank was protecting her not making her subservient. She sat as he had ordered, her eyes not moving from his back.

  Chapter 2

  Frank walked steadily but slowly. He didn’t want to risk antagonizing whatever lay wounded ahead. His instincts told him it wasn’t a great cat or other real danger. But any animal regardless of their size was potentially dangerous when scared or wounded.

  He moved slowly forward listening carefully. He thought he saw the branches move slightly but they didn’t rustle. Whatever was hiding was good at it. He pushed forward speaking slowly in the voice he used for scared horses. He spoke in his own language; one he didn’t even understand but it came naturally to him. Brian, his friend and brother-in-law, often teased him of the voodoo magic he was using.

  He kept moving and talking. The animal seemed to have come to a standstill. Taking a quick breath, he prayed hard before separating the bushes ahead of him. Inside, there was a small clearing. A bundle of what looked like rags shrank back from him. It wasn’t an animal but a child. His heart almost turned over at the thought he could have shot a human being.

  The brown eyes widened at the rifle in his hands. He laid it down gently on the ground beside him before moving closer. The child edged away, half crawling, half dragging their injured leg.

  “Don’t be afraid, let me help you.”

  The child didn’t appear to understand him but shook its head as it tried to retreat.

  Frank paused, he couldn’t leave the child behind, but he wasn’t about to make him do more damage to his injuries by pursuing him either. He called for Nandita, his raised voice causing the child to shrink back into its rags.

  “Easy Nan, it’s a child. Don’t know if it’s a boy or girl. It’s scared,” He said loudly hoping to prevent his wife appearing brandishing the knife she carried.

  Frank kept talking to the child hoping to reassure him he was safe and also to provide a location for his wife. He didn’t want her tramping off into the bushes where a real wild animal may be waiting for their supper. After what seemed like ages but was in reality less than a couple of minutes, Nandita pushed her way through the leaves and branches to the clearing.

  “Oh the poor child. Look at their feet. They must be freezing.” Nandita immediately started to remove the blankets keeping her warm but Frank stopped her. He wanted to help the child, but he wasn’t prepared to put Nandita at risk either. She had suffered enough shocks already. His mind seethed as he recalled their encounter at the reservation but it wasn’t time to dwell on that now.

  “Here little one, take my blanket.” But the child backed away from Frank. Nandita put her hand out taking the blanket from Frank while at the same time moving closer to the child.

  “Don’t be afraid of us little one, we won’t hurt you,” Nandita crooned as she edged closer. Her heart twisted as she realized the child’s feet weren’t dirty as she originally thought but as brown as the skin on her own. She switched from English to her native tongue. The child’s eyes widened before opening her mouth. “Nandita.” She said something else, something Frank didn’t understand before she fell sideways. Both Frank and Nandita leapt forward. Nandita felt her neck before putting her face closer to the girl’s mouth.

  “Her heart is beating but it is very weak. What is she doing out here all alone?”

  “We can find that out after. For now, we got to wrap her up and take her to Davy’s. It’s the nearest ranch. She needs shelter and hot food.”

  “We can’t just take an Indian into Davy’s home. Cathy, Mary’s baby is still young and Laura is heavily pregnant. What if the soldiers come? There will be more trouble for my people. You heard what that officer said.”

  “She is one of your people. We are taking her back with us now. Come on, wife, carry my rifle. I will carry the child.”

  Frank picked up the bundle of rags, the lightness of his load frightening him. He knew his wife’s concerns were real, but he also knew she wouldn’t leave this girl alone out here to die. They would keep her in the barn until they knew what danger, if any, she posed to his friend’s ranch.

  Nandita made a bed out of their blankets in the back of the wagon. Frank laid her gently on top but the girl didn’t waken. They covered her silently before jumping back up onto the wagon seat. Frank urged his horses to go faster. Every minute counted now and they were still hours away from the Sullivan ranch.

  Chapter 3

  Sullivan Ranch Late October 1886

  The smell of yeasty bread and ginger made Wilma’s stomach rumble. She would need a new skirt given the rate Mrs. H was feeding her. She loved the big kitchen in Mary’s house. Despite its large size, it was homely and welcoming. Mary had made pretty curtains for the large window which faced out onto the mountain view and a matching tablecloth. A centerpiece made from pine cones and evergreens completed the look.

  “Wilma, are you sure that son of mine is looking after himself?” Bertha Higgins asked as she poured coffee into the cups in front of her guest. Mary Sullivan had invited her to stay at the ranch until Laura had her baby, it was likely to be any day now.

  Wilma took a cup and warmed her hands around it. She loved living and working at Hope House, but if pushed she’d admit to missing life at the Su
llivan Ranch. She and Bertha Higgins had become close friends during her time staying here. They had become closer still in the weeks following the fire at Hope House when Samuel Higgins was nearly killed rescuing Ellen and little Rosa. Samuel was recovering well, considering his injuries, but he probably would never regain the use of his eye or his left leg. Still he was happy. He considered himself lucky having married Ellen. Clover Springs’ town council appointing him and Ellen as caretakers and assistants at the new Hope House was the icing on the cake.

  “Miss Bertha, you know Ellen is like a mother hen quacking around him. She won’t let him out of her sight. He prays hard for the school day to start every morning so he can get some peace.”

  The two women exchanged amused glances before laughing. They knew Samuel loved his wife but her constant care and attention was driving him demented. He had complained to Wilma that he felt like an invalid and not a real man. It wasn’t only Ellen who was behaving differently. His own mother seemed to think he was a cripple.

  Samuel had asked her to have a talk with his mother. Wilma smiled remembering his words. “You are such a straight talker, Wilma. You are the only one brave or stupid enough to take my mother on and give her a talking to.”

  Wilma knew she was neither. She was a mother just like Mrs. H, although nobody in Clover Springs knew that. She never spoke about the daughter she had lost. Not even Laura, the girl she had helped rescue from hell in Boston knew about Solace. It was best kept that way. She couldn’t bear to think about Solace. She had spent years trying to find her but nothing came of it. It wouldn’t do anyone any good sharing her heartache and loss. Being a mother made her understand Mrs. H in a way Samuel couldn’t. As a mother, you wanted to keep your children out of harm’s way. To protect them from hurt and the harshness of life. Mrs. H felt guilty her son had been injured. It was irrational as the fire wasn’t her fault but she couldn’t help her feelings.