Charlotte's Challenge

by Caroline Clemmons

  Charlotte’s Challenge

  The Golden Legacy Series

  By

  Caroline Clemmons

  Cover by Michelle Hauf

  Copyright © 2020 by Caroline Clemmons

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Series Background

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Try Another Book

  About Caroline Clemmons

  Series Background

  The Golden Legacy

  In 1734 a pirate brigantine attacked a merchant ship, The Golden Fleece, in the Caribbean. Although smaller, the merchant ship bested the pirate craft that contained a treasure trove of gold and jewels. A dying pirate claimed the Incas had cursed anyone who misused the treasure - hence the reason the merchant crew was victorious. The treasure would also bless anyone who used it for good. The greedy merchant captain, James Carlson, was killed during the battle, but his eighteen-year-old daughter, Sarah, survived in her cabin.

  Mindful of the curse and to thank God for their salvation, she asked the crew members to split the treasure equally, but to make a binding pledge that they would keep only twenty percent for their own use, and give ten percent to help others. With the rest, each was to buy something of great value that could be passed down to their descendants, with the curse passing on to anyone who broke the line and used it selfishly. If used selfishly, the treasure would be lost, but reappear in some form after skipping a generation.

  John Craig was one of The Golden Fleece’s crew.

  Chapter One

  Fort Worth, Texas 1885

  Bret Craig filled his saddlebags for his upcoming trip. He wished his sister would stop pestering him about money. Her nagging made his pounding headache worse. As the eldest sibling and only son, he had inherited the family’s money.

  “I know what I’m doing. I’ll be like the pioneers. Fresh air, the outdoors, and living off the land will be a grand adventure.”

  His sister Phyllis’ skirts swished back and forth as she paced the room. “You must listen to reason. The curse will destroy you if you use the money for yourself. Don’t you think about your future and that of your descendants?”

  “For most of my life I’ve thought about being carefree and having this great adventure. You make it sound like I’m selfish but this is something I have to do.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about Aunt Martha and me?”

  He left the saddlebags on his bed and went to his sister. He grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You know I love you, dear sister. I would never leave you if I doubted you’d be all right with Aunt Martha to act as your chaperone.”

  She hissed, “Thanks a lot, Bret. You know how she is.”

  “But you need her presence and she has nowhere else she can go.”

  He released her and returned to his packing. “I made sure you have enough money so you can live here comfortably for the rest of your life whether or not you marry. If you want to wed, you’ll have a large dowry and can take your pick of men. You’re an intelligent woman, Phyllis, and I expect you’re capable of managing your life.”

  “I certainly am,” she snapped.

  He sent her a triumphant smile. “There, you see, I knew it. If you have any questions, you’ve only to ask Mr. Van Zandt. He assured me he would be available to advise you should you need help, whether or not it regards the law.”

  A sheen of tears shone in her eyes. “I don’t need that sort of support, Bret. I may need advice sometime but I’ll always need my family with me. You should be running our father’s company instead of putting Jeffery Campbell in charge. How will I know if he’s cheating?”

  “You’ve no need to concern yourself about such things. Mr. Van Zandt is a clever attorney. He’s promised to keep an eye on Campbell and will know if he’s taking advantage.”

  He threw up his hands. “Please, stop haranguing me. I’m heading west and I don’t know when or if I’ll be back. If I settle somewhere, you have my promise I’ll let you know.”

  Fearing he’d sounded too harsh, he softened his tone, “Phyllis, I promise I’ll write occasionally to let you know where I am and what I’ve seen and done.”

  Appearing at the doorway to his room, Aunt Martha’s sour expression conveyed her usual negative outlook. “Bret Craig, you’re making several terrible mistakes. Life isn’t like the dime novels you’re so fond of reading. Dressing like one of those western heroes you’ve read about doesn’t make you one. You’ll be living on your own for the first time in your life. You’ve never even prepared coffee. How will you cook for yourself? How will you manage setting up that tent you purchased—probably at an extravagant price?”

  He was especially eager to escape his aunt’s nagging. “Aunt Martha, I left a bank book on the foyer table. I put money into an account for you so you have your own funds.”

  Her eyes widened and she looked like a fish opening and closing her mouth. “Why, that’s… a surprise. Have you become thoughtful of a sudden?”

  Ignoring her left-handed compliment, he fastened his saddlebags. “Don’t either of you worry about me. The salesman at the store demonstrated how to use all the equipment. I also have his written instructions. Our cook wrote out some of her recipes.”

  His aunt harrumphed and walked away.

  Phyllis grabbed his arm. “You know you have to abide by the legacy rules or suffer the terrible consequences.”

  He sent his sister a pitying look. “Believe me I’m not worried by some mythical curse.”

  Phyllis poked his chest with her index finger. “The curse is real and you could lose your life by ignoring the terms.”

  He leaned down and kissed his sister’s cheek. “Goodbye, dear Phyllis. Take care of yourself.” He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and strode out of the house toward the horse that a stable boy had saddled. Bret slid his rifle into the saddle sheath and fastened his saddlebags securely. He also had a packhorse loaded with camping equipment and had hidden money in various places.

  Eager to be on his way, he headed west. He had no particular plans other than exploring whatever appeared interesting as he traveled toward California. He’d deliberated asking a couple of his friends to come with him, but he was eager to prove himself capable of surviving on his own.

  Due to his partying until late last night—actually early this morning—he’d almost decided to postpone his departure by a day. He’d already told his friends goodbye and hated to wait another minute to begin his adventure. That he’d never been camping didn’t worry him at all. He had
detailed instructions for setting up the tent and cooking over a campfire. Besides, he’d read in his dime novels how such things were managed.

  Turning twenty-five last month meant he’d come into the fortune left him by his father. Supposedly—and Bret doubted the story was true—his family received their share of money in 1734 from defeating a pirate ship carrying Inca gold. The myth that the wealth carried a curse was total nonsense.

  He was surprised his intelligent sister believed that twaddle. Like many of her friends, Phyllis bought into mysticism and the occult. Women weren’t capable of rational thinking, though he hadn’t been foolish enough to share his opinion with his sister.

  By the time he was out of Fort Worth and into the countryside, his spirits were as high as the hawk soaring overhead. The bright blue sky promised a dry, warm day. He broke out in song as he rode down the trail.

  ***

  Palo Pinto County, Texas

  Charlotte Dunn stared at her late husband’s open grave as two cemetery employees shoveled dirt on top of the casket. She hugged her stepchildren to her. Rustlers had killed their two ranch hands, Stubby Jones and Quirt McKay, and had stolen over half their cattle. At the same time they’d shot her husband, Ike. Her husband had managed to ride home but eventually died from his wounds three weeks later.

  Twelve-year-old Davie clenched his jaw and stood straight but his lips trembled. Ten-year-old Susie clung to Charlotte and wept. Seven-year-old Jimmy wiped tears from his eyes and leaned against her.

  When the last of the mourners had gone the kindly minister laid his hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte, you know you can come to Kathryn and me any time with any problem.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Pendleton. I appreciate your giving such a nice sermon for Ike.” She guided the children away from the cemetery and toward the family wagon.

  Davie helped his brother into the vehicle. “What are we gonna do now?”

  Jimmy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Harry said we’ll have to go to an orphanage. Is that true, Mama? You gonna send us away?”

  “How can you even ask?” Charlotte took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. After she’d handed him the cotton square she kissed his forehead and hugged him before she climbed onto the wagon seat.

  “Listen and remember, you’re my children and I love you and nothing—and I mean nothing and no one—will ever change that! We’re going to our home and do the very best we can to hold on to the ranch. Davie, you know your father intended you to take over when you’re grown. We have to protect all the hard work he put into making our place successful.” She released the brake and snapped the reins to start the horses moving.

  Susie turned on the seat to look at her younger brother. “I told you not to listen to that stupid Harry Alexander.”

  Jimmy thrust his upper body over the back of the seat to speak in his sister’s face. “It wasn’t Harry’s idea. His mama told him that ’cause we’re not really Mama’s blood relatives she won’t keep us.”

  Charlotte would like to smack Mrs. Alexander, the gossipy old hag. “Mrs. Alexander spoke out of turn and was mistaken. We’re a family and we’ll stay together no matter what happens.”

  Davie, who was mature beyond his years, sat on the other side of Susie. “Sure will be hard with so few cattle and no hands to help.”

  “I know, son, but we’ll continue to do the things Papa did. With fewer cattle, perhaps we’ll be able manage successfully. By the time fall roundup is here, we’ll be seasoned ranch hands.” Charlotte didn’t know how they were going to make it but she was determined to hold on to the ranch.

  Davie leaned forward to look at her. “I heard Mr. Winfield offer to buy you out. I was afraid you’d accept his offer.”

  Even thinking about that worried her. Was she making a giant mistake? “Then you heard me tell him no. For one thing, he only offered about half what Papa said the place is worth. I told you the ranch is for you. Hopefully, we can even make it successful enough to support all three of you.”

  Davie laughed. “Then we could offer to buy out Mr. Winfield.”

  “Wouldn’t that be funny?” She managed to laugh with the children. She definitely didn’t want them to know how terrified she was that they were going to lose everything. What would she do if they were homeless?

  Davie leaned forward again and braced his foot on the front of the wagon. “But you couldn’t get anyone to work as ranch hands.”

  She looked for excuses. “Maybe this is the wrong time of year to hire men. Those who are available are superstitious and afraid to work for a woman.”

  Either that or they were lecherous when she interviewed them or had a reputation for being lazy. She couldn’t afford to carry the dead weight a lazy man would be on her finances. She certainly wasn’t about to tolerate a disrespectful man—especially with a vulnerable little girl on hand.

  They were better off on their own than creating a problem. Heaven knew she had plenty of those already. She had no intention of inviting a fox into the hen house.

  “I asked the sheriff to send anyone decent to the ranch. He said he would. If he sends someone, I’ll feel as if we can trust him.”

  Davie leaned forward again. “Did he say he’d keep looking for the rustlers who shot Papa?”

  “He said he’d let us know when he caught them. Frankly, children, I don’t hold out much hope Sheriff Haney will ever capture the rustlers or recover our cattle.”

  One thing she knew—they needed help, the sooner the better.

  Chapter Two

  Bret sat shivering in the night. Spring might not be frigid but being dripping wet with a stiff wind pushing against him had left him half frozen. Setting up camp had sounded so easy when the salesman had explained the steps. The man hadn’t mentioned wind and rain and mud. Once Bret had battled his way to the opening, the collapsed tent hung around his shoulders like a giant cape.

  This place had appeared picturesque when he’d arrived and set up his camp. Two hours later black clouds rolled overhead and opened to pour on him. Then, the tent had collapsed with him inside. Pushing at the canvas to get out had created a disaster.

  His bedroll was wet.

  His spare blanket was wet.

  His clean clothes were wet.

  Starting a fire in a downpour had been beyond him. His only luck had been bad. One consolation was that his sister and aunt didn’t know how dismally he’d failed. He would never tell—not them or anyone else.

  By dawn he was stiff, sneezing, and sniffling. He couldn’t remember ever being this miserable. He was alarmed to note the water level in the creek had climbed only inches from where his tent had been. He packed his sodden gear as best he could and loaded the horses.

  By mid day he’d reached the top of a hill with a small spring bubbling out of the side. He stopped and spread out his wet gear on the grass and the few bushes. In the warm sun his optimism returned. Sure he’d had bad luck but now he was off to a better setup.

  He scoured his surroundings for rocks and made a fire ring. He was gathering sticks and cow chips for his fire when another rider came up to his camp.

  “Hello the camp.” The man sat with his hands resting in sight on his pommel, the signal he was friendly.

  “Hello, get off and rest a while.” Bret divided the fuel between the ring of stones and a nearby pile to keep the fire going.

  “Appreciate it. I’m riding the grub line.”

  On closer inspection, Bret realized the newcomer appeared too thin and his clothes were worn. His mustache was thick but otherwise he was clean shaven and women would probably consider him good looking. He looked to be about forty.

  “I have plenty for both of us. Bret Craig is my name.”

  “I’m Moses Tatum but folks call me Moose because of my long face.” While the newcomer unsaddled and tied his horse to a bush, he stared at all the gear spread around.

  Bret felt the need to defend himself. “I had some bad luck last night. The downpour collapsed
my tent and everything I owned got wet. Well, not the food because it’s packed in oiled-cloth bags.”

  Moose swept his hand in an arc. “That stuff is what drew my notice. You know you’re calling attention to your whereabouts?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know any other way to dry this gear. You know anything about setting up a tent?”

  Moose sat on the ground and leaned back on his saddle. “Never tried. There’ve been plenty of times one would have been handy. Only ones I ever saw were set up as a business.” He chuckled. “Usually a saloon or a bawdy house.”

  Bret turned the tent to expose the other side. “At least my bedroll has mostly dried in this sunlight with the strong breeze. Clothes are already dry and put back in my bags. They’re gonna look terrible with no ironing.”

  The other man laughed and slapped his thigh. “I never saw no traveler with ironed clothes less’n he was staying in a hotel. Where you headed?”

  “West, maybe to California, unless something strikes my fancy before then. Where are you going?”

  “Place to place until I find work. I was sick for a while and lost my last job. Money played out until I find the next one.”

  Bret wondered if he’d been too welcoming.

  Moose pointed at him. “I see what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. I may be down on my luck but I ain’t never stole nothin’ and don’t aim to start now.”

  “Of course not. I didn’t accuse you of anything .” He sure didn’t need a fight with this fellow.

  “I have to tell you that you’re settin’ yourself up to be robbed, though. You look too well heeled not to tempt someone.”

  That alarmed Bret. He couldn’t lose his money. “What do you recommend?”

  “First off, you ought to leave that tent where it is and travel lighter. Some fellas take along an extra horse on a long trip but not packed with all this here stuff.”

  Disappointment engulfed him. “You can tell I’m green then?”

  Moose nodded. “You seem nice enough ’cause you invited me to share, but you sure look green and vulnerable.”