by Kit Morgan
She smiled. “He was a good man – he’d have liked you.”
“I’m sure I’d have liked him too.” They watched for a moment as the townsfolk of Cutter’s Creek cleared away picnic blankets to make room for dancing. Jonathan leaned his head atop his wife’s. “And I will restore all the years the locusts hath eaten,” he quoted.
Maisie smiled. “And so He has.”
He smiled too. “Yes, He most certainly has.” He let go and faced her with a bow. “Mrs. Bridger, may I have this dance?”
Maisie took his hand and kissed it. “Yes, Mr. Bridger, you most certainly may.”
And the music began.
The End
About the Author
Kit Morgan, aka Geralyn Beauchamp, lives in a log cabin in the woods in the wonderful state of Oregon. She grew up riding horses, playing cowboys and Indians and has always had a love of Westerns! She and her father watched many Western movies and television shows together, and enjoyed the quirky characters of Green Acres. Kit’s books have been described as “Green Acres meets Gunsmoke,” and have brought joy and entertainment to thousands of readers. Many of her books are now in audio format, performed by a talented voice actor who brings Kit’s characters to life.
If you’ve enjoyed this sixth book of Kit Morgan’s stories set in Cutter’s Creek, then venture into the next decade of love in our little town with Vivi Holt’s, The Strong One.
ENJOY AN EXCERPT:
The Strong One
By Vivi Holt
Chapter One
1866
Sarah Songan stuck the end of one dirty finger into her mouth and chewed anxiously on the tattered nail. The nail was already so short there was nothing left to bite off. She flicked the finger from her mouth and strained her eyes across to the other side of the camp to watch the group of men gathered around the chief’s wickiup. She shuddered, and returned the finger to her mouth.
“Sarah!” admonished an older woman sitting with a group of womenfolk beside the embers of a waning fire.
Sarah knelt next to them and went to work slicing bison meat into thin strips, making sure to leave a nice layer of fat on each piece for added flavor. As she finished each cut, she glanced back at the group, noticing the chief gesturing emphatically to the elders to punctuate some point he was making. She shivered again, considering what they were likely discussing. She knew that she was the topic of conversation, but what were they saying about her?
The smoke from the fire wafted into Sarah’s eyes, making them smart and blocking her view across the camp. She coughed and shifted around to the side of the fire circle. Behind her, the doorway of the wickiup flapped gently in the breeze, and the feathers hanging near the peak of the structure bent and swayed in time to the soughing of the long, green grasses surrounding the campsite.
The camp itself was set on one side of a lush valley, and the rolling hills on either side were garnished with yellow buttercups, blue asters, and sweet, pink, wild roses.
Sarah sighed in contentment, sweeping her gaze across the colorful landscape and feeling the peacefulness of the valley filtering into her soul for just a moment. Then she caught sight once again of the group of elders huddled together discussing her fate and her heart jumped in her chest. What would they decide? The flap over the doorway of Chief Mutaweer’s wickiup opened for a moment, and a flash of brown swept through the doorway and disappeared into the heart of the camp.
Sarah smiled and bent her head over her work. She thought quickly, then rose to her feet.
“I need a drink of water,” she said to the upturned faces of the group. Then she turned to run downhill to the nearby creek bed before any of the women could object.
Reaching the side of the creek, she knelt and scooped a handful of clear, sweet water up to her mouth, savoring its cool refreshment. In a moment the flash of brown was there, giggling and splashing creek water into her eyes.
“Ky! Stop!” she laughed, falling onto her side against the tall reeds and grasses at the water’s edge.
Ky sat beside her with a thump and pushed stray strands of her thick, black hair away from her face. It was decorated lavishly with beads and feathers, and her buckskin dress had lines of multi-colored beads sewn into it as well, indicating her status as the chief’s daughter.
“So?” asked Sarah, her wide, green eyes watching Ky’s face intently.
“So, they say you’re to be married,” said Ky, her expression becoming serious. She pulled a stalk of grass from the ground and chewed on the end, pensively.
“Married? To who?”
“Some white man over at Fort Smith.”
Sarah threw herself back against the creek bank, her hands over her eyes. Ky lay beside her, squinting up into the bright sky above with one eye closed, the end of the stalk still moving about in her mouth.
“I don’t want to get married. Especially not to some white soldier I’ve never met. I can’t leave my family to live at that Fort with a bunch of strangers. I don’t want to leave you; you’re my best friend. What am I going to do?”
Ky wrinkled her nose, and sat up to face Sarah. “They said that you’re too much of a risk to keep here. You’re not really a true Apsáalooke, seeing as how your father was a white man. Your mother always fought to keep you here, and because she was the old chief’s daughter they respected her wishes. But now that she’s dead, they say you can’t stay.”
Sarah jerked up beside her, her heart pounding in fear. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.
“You look too much like a white woman, and with your green eyes every warrior who sees you, wants you as his bride. They’ve already had to fight several skirmishes with the Sioux and Cheyenne because of you. And if the white man finds out you’re here, they’re worried that he’ll come after you as well.”
A frown creased Sarah’s forehead, and her lips tightened as she pictured the elders speaking with the chief about her future as though she were no more valuable than horse flesh or buffalo hides.
“They want to strengthen their alliance with the white soldiers, since the Sioux and Cheyenne are always baying at our door. They say a Crow alliance with the White Man is the only way we can hope to survive. So, they’re going to use you to build that bridge.”
Sarah had been studying the length of a reed beside her as Ky spoke. Its heavy head bent toward the ground as though it were bowing to the bubbling creek below. She pulled it up from the root, threw it to the ground with a hiss, and stood to her feet, stamping her moccasins in the damp soil.
“I won’t let them use me like a set of beads or a coat of fur to trade for favors. My destiny isn’t to be a slave for a white soldier. My mother taught me to speak English so that I could one day make my way in the white world if I needed to. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll run away and decide my own fate.”
Ky’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Run away? You can’t do that. What will my father say? Where will you go?”
“I don’t care what he says, and I’m not staying to find out. I’ll leave at dusk. Maybe I’ll be able to get a job in Hardin. They say that town is growing like the prairie grasses in summer. I’ll go there, and make my own way in the world. Only, I do wish I didn’t have to leave you behind.”
Sarah’s voice softened, and she stepped forward to grab Ky’s hands with her own, holding them tightly as tears formed in her eyes.
“You’re the only one left on this earth who cares about me.”
Ky pulled her close, and wrapped her arms about Sarah’s shoulders. She cried softly into Sarah’s wavy brown hair, and sniffled.
“Then don’t go.”
“You heard your father, I have to leave – one way or the other. I’d rather do it on my own terms.”
“I guess that’s true,” began Ky, stepping back and wrinkling her nose, “though maybe I can talk to him.”
“No, you know him well enough to realize that wouldn’t do a bit of good. In his eyes we’re not nineteen. He still sees u
s as those five-year-old girls who squeezed onto his lap to hear stories of the ancestors’ battles.”
“You’re right. He would pretend to listen to what I have to say, and then, when we least expected it, he’d ship you off to Fort Smith without telling me.”
Sarah nodded in agreement. Her expression dejected, she turned to face the camp, nestled in the clearing in front of them. Winding trails of smoke climbed slowly skyward, the smell of roasting bison meat wafted to them on the breeze, and the cozy wickiups reminded her of nights spent nestled together with her mother with the icy Montana winds whistling overhead.
“All right, well at least let me help you. And make sure you don’t get caught; they’ll just send you right back here, and then you’ll really be in for it.”
“I could use your help to get away from the camp without being noticed. Don’t worry though, I don’t plan on getting caught,” said Sarah. Her gaze roamed across the camp where the steady beat of activity carried on as usual in preparation for the evening meal, while Sarah’s world crumbled around her.
“I can do that.”
“Thank you. You’re a good friend.” Sarah’s eyes filled once more, and she pushed away the tears with her fist, drawing a deep breath of the fresh, southern Montana air into her lungs.
“I’ll never forget you Sarah Songan,” whispered Ky, tracing the curve of Sarah’s cheek with her fingers. Her tanned face was splotched with red, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You, too, Ky.”