“A chance meeting and a hard-fought journey to new beginnings."
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NEW BEGINNINGS available for Kindle
DANCING NORTHERN LIGHTS available for Kindle
MORNING'S RED SKY available April 13 on Amazon
Happy to announce ‘Morning’s Red Sky,' the third novel in the 'New Beginning's Series' is now in print and ready for sale.
New Beginnings, is now available for Kindle through Amazon.com available in ebook form. If you don't own a Kindle it is easy and free to download from Amazon. The revised first chapter follows ...
Chapter One
The woman startled when she heard the sound of a horse galloping into the farmyard. She ducked her head, hoping to remain hidden as she watched from the chicken house.
A big black gelding stopped at the hitching post in front of her home, skidding to a stop and planting his feet firmly as his rider pitched back and forth in the saddle, struggling to stay in his seat. The horse, wide-eyed and snorting through flared nostrils, showed his fear as he tramped the ground, sending clouds of dust around him.
Peeking through an open sliver in the door she noticed the man had regained his seating although he appeared weak. He slumped forward and put his hand on his right thigh. She had to squint to see the dark stain quickly growing on his torn trousers. The blood started to drip to the ground.
The man’s voice wavered as he spoke to the fidgeting horse, “Hold still so I can get off.”
She longed to stay hidden, but there was no one else to help him.
As she walked cautiously toward the pair and kept close watch, he grabbed his knee, bunching the pant material in his hand to pull the leg over the saddle. Obviously with great pain he started to slide toward the ground, groaning with every move. She noticed his knuckles whitened with the strain of gripping the saddle horn, as the horse continued to quiver. Grasping hold of the reins to steady his mount, she was surprised to find they had been trampled on and broken in what appeared to be an uncontrolled ride. As she gripped his arm to offer support her eyes met his, but fearful, she looked away. Neither said a word as she helped him toward the house, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist. The two steps to the large open porch proved exceptionally difficult and they stopped a moment on each stair. She couldn’t carry him but had to support his weight as he hopped up each one. Finally inside she pushed the door closed with her foot, leaving the horse free to wander.
She continued to help him over to a small cot across the room. She pulled back two handmade quilts that covered it.
Before he sat she spoke, “May I look at your leg?”
He didn’t know how much he could trust this woman and hesitated for a moment then consented without words. With her help to steady him, he removed the two holsters that held a gun for each hip, then his belt. He pushed down his pants before he sat on the bed. A loud groan that he couldn’t hold back, escaped him. She awkwardly bent to remove his boots and he realized at that instant she was with child. To try to offer help, he lifted his good leg higher, but couldn’t give assistance with the wounded one as the pain was too great. He wore knee-length underwear which was torn and blood-soaked where he had been injured. She started to pick at the material but her patient said, “Cut it off, it is beyond repair anyway.” She took her sewing scissors and cut away the legging.
As she examined the wound she found the flesh had been torn away. Blood flowed freely, spotted the floor and formed a small puddle at her feet as he sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t stop to consider what needed to be done and went to the kitchen area and pulled a metal pie plate from a shelf. She quickly returned to the bed and without a word helped him to lie back and placed the shallow plate under the wound, to catch the steady flow of blood.
The woman continued to move quickly, but calmly, like someone who did this often. She went to the iron cook stove, held a towel so her hand would not touch the hot metal and placed the already warmed kettle back over the heat. She set a porcelain basin on the table, poured a small stream of a dark liquid on the bottom and the smell of pine filled the room. Before the kettle boiled, but steamed lightly, she again held the towel and poured the hot water into the basin, mixing the liquid as it flowed. She returned the kettle to the stove so it would continue to heat. From a shelf she took a small clean towel, one that was used to dry dishes, and with quick jerks ripped it into three pieces, placing one in the basin. A small sewing box sat at the back of the table, and from it she retrieved a spool of dark thread and pulled several shiny, sharp needles from the pincushion they sat in. She broke off four, foot-long pieces of the thread and quickly pushed each through the eye of a needle. The kettle boiled freely. She filled a clean coffee cup with the water and placed each needle and thread into the hot liquid and left the tail of each to hang over the edge of the cup. She pulled the table a little closer to the bed and placed all of the supplies near the edge. There she could easily reach them from the chair she moved next to him. Lastly she lit a coal oil lantern, placed it on the other chair pulled out from the table, so it would cast no shadows where she was to work. Feeling fully prepared, she washed her hands in the basin of hot water and sat down to her task.
“You were shot?” she asked without any hint of alarm, not looking up.
“How bad is it?”
“The muscle is torn badly, but I think the bullet missed the bone and went clear through. In time it should heal well.” With gentle, experienced hands she tended to the injury, carefully tying off any vein that bled heavily. Periodically she took the wet cloth from the hot liquid in the basin, squeezed the excess from it and soaked away any blood pooled in the wound. At times she had to take a pair of tweezers and remove fragments of material from his clothing which got into the injury. She continued to work quickly, without any alarm. She did this in complete silence as her patient carefully watched each move she made.
When she felt the blood had been adequately slowed she folded the two pieces of towel and placed them over her work. She reached to a shelf over the bed, retrieved an old sheet and tore off two wide strips and wrapped his leg. Finally she pulled the quilts up and adjusted the pillow for her visitor’s comfort. He watched her closely, but she very carefully looked away.
As she proceeded to wash her supplies and put the items away she asked, “Should your horse be hidden?”
He hesitated as he had not considered the risk, then nodded as he answered, “That would probably be best.”
Without saying any more she carried the basin, which held the bright red water and stepped out the door.
Being alone he looked around the room and found it overfull with furnishings. An iron cook stove, some small cupboards and shelves took up the entire wall opposite the bed. There looked to be very little food on the shelves. A neatly stacked pile of firewood and kindling sat near the stove. She had pushed the small table and two chairs back into place under the window of the north wall. There was only enough room beside the bed for one of the chairs to be pulled out, and on the back of it hung the two sets of holsters and his guns. He removed the ‘Colt 45’ from one, checked the magazine and placed it under his pillow. His gaze continued around the room. Above the bed, a shelf held a few items of clothing and at the foot was a well-worn rocking chair. It seemed to be placed in front of the door to the next room as if to block it. A large fireplace on the south wall looked to be unused for some time, as its floor had been cleaned of all ash. A window was above a small washstand that had held the basin she had used, and its matching pitcher.
Satisfied he was as safe there as anywhere else he could be, he settled back on the bed. He checked the placement of his 45, relaxed and in seconds fell asleep.
He woke with a start and didn’t remember where he was. Immediately he reached for his gun. A pain that felt like a stab from a red-hot poker ran through his leg and reminded him of what had happened. He settled back on the bed and tried to avoid any further disturbance to the wound.
Unusual smells filled the room and although they were not completely unpleasant he wasn’t sure what the menu might contain.
The woman remained facing the stove, and looked as if she was stirring something, the sound of a metal spoon rubbing the bottom of a pot. Even though she heard him move, she made no motion that showed any type of concern for her visitor. “No one came looking for you,” she said; her voice presented no emotion.
“Good,” he answered, rather puzzled at her composure. He knew most women in this circumstance, alone in their home with a gunshot stranger, would be very worried, or maybe hold a gun on him. He wondered if possibly she knew who he was, but concluded she didn’t. Most people in this area would not have welcomed him into their home and would have left him to bleed to death. He was not well liked by many of the settlers, as he was the owner of a lending agency and a saloon in Brandon, the newly developed town. He was well known for his dishonest ways to get ahead financially, and didn’t care who he stepped on or ground into the dirt.
She turned from the stove and held a cup that steamed slightly. Her profile reminded him of her condition and he noticed her clothing was very unusual, seemingly pieced together so it would fit over the unborn baby. Nonetheless, she was a pretty woman with long auburn hair, which was slightly greying at the temples. She wore it tied back and he found it hard to tell her age, but he decided she was neither young nor old. She appeared to be a person who took care of herself, she was clean and her home was clean. But she was very different to the saloon girls or some of the town women who seemed to like to display themselves only at their best.
“Where is your husband?” he asked.
“Out back.” Her answer was short, precise and offered no explanation.
He looked toward the window he thought would be considered the back of the house, and noticed night had fallen. He wondered why her husband would not have come inside yet as the day’s work must be finished; little could be done outdoors after dark.
She carried the mug over to him and set it on the chair beside the bed. “This is willow bark tea. It will help with the pain and swelling. I couldn’t give it to you until the bleeding had slowed.” Without warning she pulled back the quilts and again very gently tended to the wound as she removed the blood-soaked dressings. With a warm, damp cloth she patted away any dried blood. Satisfied with what she saw, she sprinkled a powder on it and started to redress the injury.
The silence was very unusual to him and he tried to make conversation as he slowly drank the bitter tea. “My name is Sam,” he said. He hoped she would respond with her own name, but she stayed quiet. After some time he asked her.
“Sara.” She returned to the stove and filled two bowls with a cream soup, setting one down for herself and carried the other to her visitor. “This is onion and garlic soup. It will help to fight infection. Do you need help to eat?”
“I can manage.” Sam pulled himself to more of an upright position and she placed a small board on his lap and set the bowl upon it. He ran his hand around the small piece of wood that had obviously been worn from use, possibly to hold a letter or a book while in bed, he thought. She returned to the table and her meal.
“Is your husband not joining us?”
But her only answer was to rise and get him a glass of water. “You should drink lots of water. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Were you a nurse?”
“For a while. I went south to help during the American war.”
He nodded before he answered. “Then you’ve seen a lot of injured people … a lot of death.” He began to realize where her skilled hands and calm actions had been practiced to near perfection.
“A lot of death,” she said. She still showed no response, appearing to have no tears or laughter left inside of her.
To change the subject from the sobering thoughts, he asked, “When is your baby due?”
“Near Christmas Day.”
“First one?”
But she gave no answer. She went and removed his empty dish from the board and set it on the table. He returned the piece of wood to its place beside the chair. She bent and pulled a covered chamber pot out from under the bed. When she straightened she said, “I’ll go and make sure your horse is all right,” and gave him time to be alone. She took a lantern from a hook by the door, lit it before she wrapped a thick shawl around herself and stepped out into the night.
Sam completed his task. He saw the basin sitting on the table filled with water to wash in. He pulled the back of the chair toward himself and used it to help stand. Slowly he pulled himself up to make his way to the basin, but was unable to use his right leg at all to support even the slightest amount of weight. After he washed and dried himself, he looked out the window. Moving like a firefly on a hot summer night, a light wavered outside. He reached with the towel to wipe moisture from the glass. The nights were already cold enough the warm air of the cabin formed water droplets as it touched the cool window. He had to let his eyes focus to see past his own reflection and finally realized it was Sara as she walked in a small fenced area which contained several crosses, two larger and six or seven smaller ones. He now understood the explanation to her answer of her husband being out back. This was probably why she was so quiet and why she seemed to be alone. In a slight way he was curious, but knew she would not talk about it, so he wouldn’t ask. He let his sight readjust to his reflection that looked back from the window. Against his shoulder-length black hair and neatly trimmed beard his face looked a little pale but he smiled at the fact that he had survived the day.
He realized, while making his way back to the bed, the pain in his leg was greatly relieved. He lay down and pulled up only one of the quilts. He caught the scent of lavender when he moved the pillow and as he drifted off to sleep he wondered who this mysterious woman could be.
Sam slept soundly until he woke the next morning to a dark room. The south window showed the sun was starting to lighten the eastern sky. The daylight hours were getting shorter on the Canadian prairie, as it was the middle of October. Snow could be expected at any time, and some of the older people in the area said the signs showed for a hard winter.
As he tried to move, a severe pain ran through his wounded leg. A loud moan escaped him and he quickly gave in to it and resigned himself back to the bed. The room was dark but he could see a motion close by. Sara rose from the rocking chair she had moved closer to the warmth of the cook stove. Her effort was slow, possibly from her growing size and an uncomfortable night as she slept in the chair. She lit the lantern that sat on the table, turned to the stove and put a couple of split logs into the burner which contained only red-hot embers. Catching quickly the dry wood started to flame, and warmth could be felt as it grew in the small room. With a spoon she gave the pot on the stove a stir before she poured its contents into a cup and without a word took it to Sam and handed it to him.
“More willow bark tea?”
“Yes.”
“It really helps to take away the pain.”
“Yes,” she answered, then turned toward the door. She took the heavy shawl from the rocking chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. Before he finished the bitter drink, she returned with several eggs and a bucket of water that was cold enough to have a few thin pieces of ice float on it.
Sam watched as she prepared the breakfast. First the coffee pot was filled with the ice-cold water and several spoonsful of coffee. Then she mixed a batch of biscuits and placed them in the oven. Each time she opened a container, he noticed she had to reach down inside to retrieve the ingredients and there appeared to be no more provisions.
While she waited for the biscuits to bake and the coffee to brew, Sara gathered her supplies and turned to Sam to doctor his wound.
Without a word he pulled back the quilt so she could work. He watched her face as she tended to him, but she carefully avoided any glance back.
“It looks fine,” she said as she sprinkled a powder on it.
“What is that?” Sam asked, finding the silence very uncomfortable.
“Mostly dried garlic, crushed fine, and a few wild herbs.”
As she replaced the quilt over him, he quickly grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. Immediately her reaction was to go very stiff, the colour seemed to drain quickly from her face. It wasn’t what he had expected as he thought she would fight desperately against him.
“Thank you, Sara,” he said. When she finally looked at his face, her eyes showed terror.
“You’re welcome,” she answered as he released his hold. “I better get the biscuits before they burn,” she said as she turned away. He didn’t see the tear run down over her cheek.
She removed the lightly-browned baking from the oven and placed the pan on the table, again using the towel to guard against the heat. The eggs were broken into a warmed cast-iron frying pan that a small amount of lard had already been added to and they immediately started to sizzle. She didn’t turn to her patient when she asked, “How do you like your eggs?” Her voice trembled a little.
“Any way is fine. Do you think I can sit at the table for breakfast?” he asked. He hoped he could make a quick recovery and leave as soon as possible.
“You can give it a try and see how you feel.” She also hoped this man would soon be on his way back to town and out of her life. “Give me a minute to finish the eggs and I’ll help you.”
Sam sat at the table and despite the fact the breakfast was set in front of him, he waited for Sara.
She filled his cup with the coffee that sent a refreshing aroma into the air and placed a sugar bowl with barely more than a spoonful of brown sugar, beside it. Cautiously, Sara took her place across the table, still not looking at him.
“I’m sorry there is no butter or cream. We lost our only cow in a barn fire this past spring.”
He started to speak but an alarmed expression crossed Sara’s face. She jumped up from her chair and quickly looked out the south window. With a worried glance back at Sam, she grabbed her shawl and disappeared into the next room, quietly closing the door.
It took a moment, but Sam heard the sound of a horse galloping up to the house. He quickly reached for his gun under the pillow. From outside, a man’s voice could be heard as it called Sam’s name and he realized it was someone who worked for him in the town.
“I’m in here,” he shouted back.
The door opened and a man, so tall he had to duck his head, came inside. He cautiously peered around the room as he entered. Eric Hunter, one of Sam’s henchmen, gun in hand, was prepared for anything. He was quite relieved to see the man he had searched for and offered his boss a grin that displayed his tobacco-stained teeth and missing front tooth. Several days’ hair growth covered his face and his clothing appeared rather shabby.
As it was obvious Sam couldn’t ride a horse, Eric stayed only long enough to make sure his boss was safe and returned to Brandon to get a buckboard. A wagon wouldn’t be very comfortable either, but it was important he get back to town.
Sam wondered where Sara had disappeared to as he continued eating his breakfast. He was surprised when shortly after the unexpected visitor left she returned through the front door. Not many farm homes built in the 1870’s would have had a front and back door. He was fairly certain she would not climb through a window in her condition. She was very quiet, and obviously very scared of the man who had just left, or maybe any stranger, he thought.
She brought the pot to the table from the stove and started to refill Sam’s cup to warm the coffee that had gone cold, but her hand shook uncontrollably. He took the pot from her and set it down. He tried to look into her eyes, but still she avoided looking back. She watched only her own hand as she reached to take his empty plate. Sam put his hand over hers, more gently this time.
“Sit for a moment, you look a little pale.” He let his hand linger over hers and felt it tremble, but slowly she pulled away.
She did sit and said, “I’m really not used to having strangers around.”
“You’ll be happy to hear Eric is coming back this afternoon with a wagon to take me home.” He gave her a small smile.
Even though she didn’t return the expression, she was happy to hear her unexpected patient would leave that day. In a small way she liked the company of a person there again. It had been a long time.
It would be a couple of hours until Eric’s return and the time was spent quietly as Sam was still very tired. The willow bark tea helped him to relax as it was remarkable how well it worked at taking the pain away. He felt somewhat at ease in his hiding place. Sara tried to mend his trousers as best she could. She sewed on a patch with one of the needles she used to doctor his wound. Even though the fabric didn't match, she felt the patch would do until he arrived home. The material in the pants was very soft and she knew that only a wealthy man could afford them.
After an hour and a half passed, Sara helped Sam dress and prepare for his ride home. She supplied him with extra garlic powder and willow bark tea, saying, “The doctor probably won’t approve of these, but you’ll find how well they will work.”
When the sound of a team of horses could be heard in the distance, Sam thanked her for the items and for all of her help. He started to ask if she would be all right there alone when the wagon sounded too close. Her eyes showed alarm, but being prepared this time she quietly got up and went into the other room. This time Sam could hear the trap door close as she went down into the root cellar. He then understood her method of escape.
As he waited the few minutes for Eric to come inside Sam couldn’t help but wonder how Sara would manage. She was all alone in the countryside, expecting a baby and winter was on its way. In all of his near forty years he had never once considered how anyone else lived. As a young child Sam was abandoned and forced to wander the streets of Toronto. He learned his underhanded, selfish ways there and managed to survive by being somewhat of a con artist. When he moved to Red River in 1874, he found employment at a bank with the intention of embezzling funds. He found it much more profitable when he became somewhat honest and provided loans at outrageous interest rates. Three years later he moved to a new settlement called Grand Valley. It was a week further west via the riverboat steamer, Prince Rupert, where businesses were needed along with some form of entertainment. The little town was one of the first of its kind as the west developed. It provided for the new settlers and what was left of the hunters and trappers, as the forts in the area for the most part had disappeared. It seemed his business and saloon with an attached hotel for those late nights were welcomed. Sam set up two large tents side by side and soon his venture was well underway. Eventually news spread of the town as it grew and the good farmland that surrounded it. The easterners gradually came to settle the wide-open prairies. Sam had found his gold mine, and as the town grew, so did his takings. In 1881, word came that the railway was not to be built near Grand Valley, but instead had been rerouted south of the great river on higher, sandy soil. Sam moved to the new location as he felt certain the railroad would bring with it more opportunity and bought what land he could. Not long after, his perceptiveness turned to income. He knew lumber would be a big business and proceeded to contract for what he could. In time he built himself a very modern home and hotel and several small shops, which he rented out to some of the new town businesses. Many of these people needed loans to get underway. It didn’t seem to matter what happened, if Sam was in the middle of it, it made a profit. He wasn’t well liked by many but that was the least of his worries.
“You ready to go home?” Eric asked as he opened the door without a knock and entered the little house. Again he bowed his head to miss the doorway. Behind him a young man followed, slightly dragging one leg as he walked. He held his left hand awkwardly at his waist and moisture from a continuous drool covered his scraggly beard. It was obvious he had some problems and Sam knew him as the town’s charge. A couple of years before he was left an orphan after a runaway team overturned a wagon. His father was killed and the accident left Toby severely injured. His mother died a few years earlier during an influenza outbreak before they came west. It was thought that he would not survive the mishap, but only after he pulled through did the true damage show. Sam provided him with a room in the back of the hotel’s stable, where Eric also stayed. The boy cleaned the horse stalls for a little extra spending money. The ladies of the town tried desperately to clean him up, but he fought against it terribly. Occasionally they won the battle and this must have been one of those times. He was rewarded with a wagon ride in the country.
“Hey, Toby,” Sam said. “How are you?”
“I help’n Eric brin’ ya home,” the boy drawled back.
“Good, let’s get going,” Sam said as he tried to stand with Eric’s help.
“Where lady?” Toby drooled, “Eric said lady care you. Where perdy lady?”
“She’s not here right now, Toby.” Sam rubbed the boy’s freshly washed head, “and we have to get home before dark.”
“I want see lady.”
Eric cuffed the lad’s ear, “We’ve got to go, Toby. You help Sam on the other side.”
Together the three made their way onto the porch before Sam rested a moment.
“You all right?” Eric asked.
“Yep,” Sam gave a slight nod, but the beads of sweat on his forehead showed his difficulty.
They were all taken by surprise to see the black horse tied to the back of the wagon. A rope halter held him in place, the saddle, saddle bags and bridle were thrown into the box. Sam looked around the yard to try to catch a glimpse of his rescuer and felt a touch of disappointment when she was nowhere to be seen.
Being a big man, Eric lifted Sam to the bench seat at the front of the wagon. He walked around the back, helped Toby up in place, and then climbed into the seat beside his boss. He took hold of the reins, flicked them and clucked at the horses. The team pulled ahead and followed the trail past a small grove of fruit trees. The few leaves that remained showed the red and gold colours of fall. Sam noticed for the first time where the barn once stood. Now all that could be seen was its charred remains, and he realized what a loss this could be to someone in Sara’s situation.
In the back of the wagon Toby became excited. With spit flying he exclaimed, “Fire! Big fire! Perdy fire?”
Eric turned and swung at him as he yelled at the boy to be quiet and sit down.
Toby slumped down on the wagon floor. He sulked and muttered to himself, “Perdy fire…”
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