RUSH BY JAYME H. MANSFIELD
Published by Heritage Beacon Fiction
an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC 27614
ISBN: 978-1-946016-29-4
Copyright © 2017 by Jayme H. Mansfield
Cover design by Elaina Lee
Cover illustration by Kelly Berger (www.kellybergerart.com)
Interior design by AtriTex Technologies P Ltd
Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: lpcbooks.com.
For more information on this book and the author visit: JaymeHMansfield.com.
All rights reserved. Noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of author, provided the text does not exceed 500 words. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “RUSH by Jayme H. Mansfield published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”
Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher/author, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.
This is a fictional account of the life of Mary Louisa Roberts during the Oklahoma Land Rush of 1893. Some of the names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.
All Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.
Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas: Eddie Jones, Shonda Savage, Ann Tatlock, Andrea Merrell, Elaina Lee, Brian Cross.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mansfield, Jayme H.
RUSH/ Jayme H. Mansfield 1st ed.
Printed in the United States of America.
Praise for RUSH
In RUSH, Jayme Mansfield weaves a story of Mary Louisa Roberts’ determination to fulfill a dream, to overcome insurmountable circumstances, to stand and fight for her beliefs and her son, and to find unexpected love. Jayme sets the story in the colorful world of the Oklahoma Land Rush and pulls no punches on the dangers and threats Mary must face to achieve her dreams. An exciting read that will stay with you long after the final chapter.
~ Henry McLaughlin
Award-winning author of the Journey to Riverbend series
RUSH captures from the first page and doesn’t let go. With breathtaking descriptions of the Oklahoma Land Rush and characters who are stunning in their depth, Jayme Mansfield leads readers on their own quest with this remarkable work of fiction.
~ Cara Luecht
Award-winning author of Devil in the Dust
Another intriguing must-read by Jayme Mansfield. RUSH, her second novel, invites you to experience the riveting adventures of Mary Louisa Roberts, a spunky pioneer woman who rides in the Oklahoma Land Rush and wins a 160-acre claim. When Mary faces both prejudice and evil that threaten her life and success, this determined woman overcomes, lets go of her past, trusts God with her future, and wins the love of a Boston artist. Mansfield paints a vivid picture of the 1893 land rush with incredible imagery, exciting adventure, and historical accuracy. Best of all, it’s her family story.
~ Susan G. Mathis
Author of The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy
RUSH is a lush, sweeping historical novel about a widowed woman who joins the Oklahoma Land Rush. The story has it all—lovers, heroes, villains, and fools. But with the added twist of Jayme Mansfield’s own family history interwoven, you’ll find yourself caught up in your own rush across the prairielands of this frontier tale.
~ David Rupert
Writer. Editor. Encourager.
Patheos Blogger. Founder of Writers on the Rock.
With the eye of an artist and the heart of a writer, Jayme Mansfield brings another amazing story to life. By weaving historical fact, high-impact fiction, and vivid imagery, she brings readers a memorable tale—inspired by true family events—that pays tribute to those whose pioneer spirit helped shape America.
~ Andrea Merrell
Author of Murder of a Manuscript, Praying for the Prodigal,
and Marriage: Make It or Break It
The best stories are the ones you’ve been hearing all your life. Jayme has taken a remarkable family story and transformed it into a tale of courage, independence, and redemption. Mary Louisa Roberts believes riding in the Oklahoma Land Rush will be her greatest challenge, but finding her way through a tangle of relationships and love proves harder still. This story will pull you in and take you on an amazing ride. And best of all—it’s (mostly) true!
~ Sarah Loudin Thomas
Author of Miracle in a Dry Season
Winner of the 2015 INSPY and Selah Awards for Debut Fiction
Dedication
For my grandmother, Mildred Roberts Owens
1919 - 2007
Granddaughter of Mary Louisa Johnston Roberts
Daughter of Charles Wesley Roberts
Because of you, “Oklahoma Grandma” lives on.
Grandma Millie, you are loved
forever and a day.
Acknowledgments
There’s truth to the saying, “It runs in the blood.” As a child and well into adulthood, I heard the tales of my Oklahoma Grandma. Even though I was born nearly one hundred years after my great-great grandmother—a bit late to share in the 1893 race across the open plains of what would become the 46th state—her fierce determination and adventurous spirit trickled through the family tree and filled me to the brim. To her, I say thank you for following your heart and being part of what made America the Land of Opportunity.
My heartfelt thanks also go to the following:
• To Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas for continuing to believe in my ability to bring stories to life. Eddie Jones and Cindy Sproles, a special thank you for providing the Badge of Honor Contest—the book’s first thumbs up. Ann Tatlock, your rock-solid knowledge and guidance are very much appreciated. And, Andrea Merrell, you continue to elevate my writing with your expertise, dedication, and friendship. You are all editors extraordinaire.
• To Henry McLaughlin for your guidance and initial editing process that helped me reach the end of the story amidst juggling many elements of life.
• To Kelly Berger, dear friend and wildly talented artist, your artwork has graced the cover of my first two books and for that, I am indebted.
• To Heidi Hamamoto, Berni Reynolds, and Denille Obermeyer for keeping the marketing afloat and all that goes with giving a book good legs to run.
• To Elizabeth Brunsdon, for sharing your roots and buddying with me on our modern day Oklahoma adventure to dig up solid research and laugh until our bellies hurt.
• To my cousin, Sally Wright, we’re fortunate gals to come from such a heritage. Thanks for compiling and gathering the old photos, letters, documents, and precious jar of Oklahoma dirt. Trisha Head Cobb, we are indebted to you for being the “keeper” of the story and sharing it with all of us.
• To my mom, Janet Hanna, great-granddaughter of Oklahoma Grandma, your wisdom that the past holds treasures and has tales to be told is the reason the story was born. Grandma Millie would be proud!
• To my husband James and my family, for putting up with me riding off on wild imagination adventures and h
anging out for ridiculous amounts of time with my characters … I love you (and they do too).
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CHAPTER 1
Mary ~ Alone, Missouri, July 14, 1893
I can’t stop shivering when I sleep alone.
As I pulled the threadbare quilt higher, daybreak peeked in the window. Morning already, and he didn’t come home again last night. Disappointment and relief played tug-of-war in my mind. But what kind of wife did that make me, relieved my husband didn’t come home?
My eyes followed a crack in the ceiling that ran like a river going nowhere. My hands rested on my flat belly, wishing for it to swell again with a baby. But that was nonsense. There was no new life in me. How could there be when I felt as though I were dying inside? Besides, having another child wouldn’t make things better.
Tossing the quilt aside, I slid out of bed. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Despite the heat, I still wore Tuck’s grayed wool socks, slipped on last night before crawling into bed. When darkness fell on Adair County, Missouri, my hope was that my husband would come home—at least for our son’s sake. But it was to be another lonely night.
I pulled my shawl from the iron hook and wrapped it tightly around my bare shoulders and thin, cotton nightdress. The logs from last night’s cooking had burned down hours ago. Only a faint glimmer of red pulsed from the ashes, determined to gain a last breath. I used the poker to rustle the fragile remains, urging them to life once again. A small flame darted, then receded as quickly as it had lashed out, reminding me of my own hurt and anger that was squelching the love I once had for my husband. But love was a requirement, wasn’t it? Especially for our son, six-year-old Wesley, who lay sleeping in the other room.
I, Aaron “Tuck” Roberts, take you, Mary Louisa Johnston, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; until death do us part.
The promises were made nearly ten years earlier when the leaves were brilliant, and I was twenty-two. Like so many others, my husband’s sights—as well as my own—were focused on eventually heading west for a chance at a better life. Now, the words he promised played over and over in my mind, slowly losing momentum like the record on the phonograph, winding down, then silent.
The window felt cool as my head rested against the glass. “He’ll be home soon,” I whispered, wiping away tears that lately came too easily. Outside, the dirt road took on an auburn haze—the mid-July sun promising a new day.
*****
I must have dozed from the combination of reading William Blake’s poetry and the incessant ticking of the clock that perched on the ledge near the kitchen table. The book, a gift from my mother, lay open across my lap. Most evenings, after tucking Wesley in bed, I enjoyed the company of my books, especially Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth Bennet’s quick wit and intelligence made me smile and realize, deep down, she and I were much alike. But it was Alice who gathered me into her wonderland, allowing me to momentarily escape the solitude of Adair.
Occasionally, Tuck would ask me to read aloud. We would journey together to some faraway land. And—if only in my mind—those were the sweet moments with my husband that made me hope he would open the front door at any moment.
“Mrs. Roberts?” A deep voice bellowed behind the door, followed by a loud pounding. “You in there? It’s Sheriff Murphy.”
The chair toppled as I jumped up. “Yes.” The timidity of my reply made me clench my fists.
“Need to talk with you right away.” The voice was one I had heard too many times and not one for a good conversation. The fist pounding repeated, shaking the door.
Tuck must have gotten in trouble again. Maybe he’s hurt … or worse.
Unlatching the lock, I opened the door.
Sheriff Murphy peered from under the wide brim of his hat, his eyes moving from my face down the length of my body, pausing too long in obvious places. “Ma’am, it looks as though I’ve intruded.” His bushy mustache couldn’t hide the smirk.
I gathered my shawl around my body, disgusted with myself for being caught off guard and indecent.
“Excuse me.” Tangled hair fell across my face. “Must have fallen back asleep. Hard to sleep last night.” I averted my eyes, feeling foolish for being barely dressed in front of the man who claimed to uphold the law in our small town but had gained a reputation for desiring nothing more than to break it for his own benefit.
“Must be hard to get a good night’s sleep when you’re here all alone, taking care of that boy by yourself. Downright lonely, to be sure.” His left cheek twitched.
“Where’s my husband?” I straightened my back and forced myself to hold the door open instead of slamming it in his face. “Is he all right?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He stepped back and paced the warped, wooden planks of the porch. With each moan of the boards, he paused, clearly enjoying a game of cat and mouse.
“Sheriff ...” The words caught in my throat like a fish in a net. “What have you come to tell me? What’s your business here?”
He stopped mid-pace, then walked toward me. His broad shoulders and muscular frame blocked the morning sun, but I forced myself to meet him eye to eye.
“Tell me where my husband is.”
His ice-blue eyes, alluring to some, sent a chill down my spine. “He’s in the jail.”
Relief washed over me that it wasn’t what I often feared when Tuck went missing for a few days. “Whatever he did, it was surely a misunderstanding.”
“No such luck for that man. Got caught stealing one of Sam Taylor’s finest horses.” He chuckled. “Didn’t work out too well for him though.” His fingers caressed the Colt poised on his hip. “Nope, got beat up pretty bad by Taylor’s men.”
“What’d they do to him?”
“Nothing he won’t get over. But he’ll be sure to feel it when the booze wears off.” He glanced at the sun. “Which ought to be about now.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of Tuck drinking again. He had promised. But he had made a lot of promises. “Tuck wouldn’t steal anything, especially a horse.”
“That’s not what folks are saying. And quite frankly, your husband doesn’t have the best reputation around here.”
And neither do you. “That’s not proof he did anything wrong. You should know the law.”
“I know the law, all right. And a horse thief too.” The sheriff adjusted his hat and walked toward his gelding, its reins lopped over the rickety fence. “A pretty woman like you deserves something better. It’s a shame your husband’s chance at claiming some land in the Rush is over. Hard to participate if he’s locked up in jail.”
“Tuck will be out in time, especially since he’s innocent.” I set my jaw and swallowed hard. Surely he wouldn’t have tried to steal a horse to make the race for the new territory. Or would he?
Sheriff Murphy hoisted himself onto the saddle. “You better get inside. Put some proper clothes on.” He stared me down again, and this time my bareness felt complete. “You’re too vulnerable, being such a pretty little thing.”
CHAPTER 2
Mary ~ Jail, July 14, 1893
“Mama, why did Daddy steal a horse?”
Wesley’s sleepy voice brought me back from my thoughts as I stared at the closed door, causing me to spin around. “Your father did no such thing.” The widening of my son’s eyes made me wince and soften my voice. “The sheriff doesn’t know the real story. It was all a big mistake.”
“But he put Daddy in jail. That means he did something real bad.” Wesley
’s lips quivered. Standing there with tousled dark hair and a wrinkled nightshirt, he seemed so small under the doorframe that led to the back room where all three of our boys once slept.
All three of our boys …
Unbidden, those painful thoughts came rushing in—how the twins, James and William, had arrived a year after my marriage to Tuck. How a couple of years after that came Charles, who soon came to be called by his middle name, Wesley, or “from the west meadow.” Such a fitting name for this sweet child. But then the unthinkable. A lump formed in my throat when my thoughts replayed how the influenza took our two oldest sons. Something in me died that day as well. And in Tuck. Our attempts to hang on to each other in the raging storm of emotions failed. We were out of one another’s reach, drifting apart and drowning in separate waters. And now? I feared he was already gone—to an even darker place where drink and sadness would be his only companions.
A tug on my shawl brought me out of my painful memories. “Mama?”
Placing my hands gently on his face, I looked down into his trusting brown eyes and swallowed the words that would only crush his young heart. “Your father’s a good man. We’ll go to the jail and get this cleared up. He’ll be home before lunchtime. Just wait and see.” I wrapped my arms around Wesley and pulled him in close, hoping he couldn’t feel my heart pounding with the lies. But maybe this time my husband would prove me wrong.
Wesley squirmed out of my arms and eyed me, his head cocked to one side in his typical questioning pose. “Is Daddy gonna be in the land race? The other kids have been talkin’ ’bout it. Billy Crofton’s family is leavin’ to get a new place to live. Ruth Ann said her dad is goin’ with her uncle out west to get some land of their own. Lots of it.”
“Not much gets past a smart boy like you.” My smile was tight and forced. “Let’s get you something to eat. Both of us need to get dressed.” I walked to the shelf and pulled down the canister of grits.
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