She got stiffly to her knees, careful not to wake the baby, and was about to stand when she heard a strange noise, like thunder on the plains, piercing the stillness of the day. Glancing up, she noted the sky was clear. At the next moment she realized that what she heard was pounding hooves against the dry, parched land. Then came the screams of the women and the alarmed shouts of the men as they tried to gather their wits and attempt to defend their families against the rapidly approaching Indians.
The whoops and cries of the Comanche drowned out all other sounds as they swarmed down on the helpless caravan, arrows singing through the air. Some were aflame, and they pierced the canvas of the wagons, setting them afire.
Violet watched, paralyzed with horror, clutching Jacie tightly against her. A silent scream constricted her throat at the sight of Iris's oldest boy, Lukie, being taken down by an arrow to his neck.
She fell forward, bracing herself with one arm against the ground as she continued to hold the baby while peering over the top of the camouflaging sage and scrub. She could see it all—the people she had come to know so well in the past weeks and consider friends, family even, all being slaughtered. Shuddering, she felt bile rise in her throat as she helplessly watched Luke trying to shield Iris, who crouched on the ground clutching one of her dead sons in her arms.
The last thing Violet saw before mercifully fainting was Luke falling dead, a tomahawk buried in his skull.
* * *
Iris was denied the relief of fainting. Instead, she was frozen in a kind of shock, unable to speak or move as the wild-faced savages leapt from their ponies to surround her.
She was the only one spared.
The Indians talked excitedly among themselves. She was beautiful, their leader declared, bragging how he had seen her from afar and decided she would bring them much pleasure before following her white brothers and sisters in death. Another argued he should have her first, since it was his tomahawk that had felled her defender.
But one warrior's gaze fastened on Iris's bosom. He shouted to his comrades to leave her alone and, dismounting, walked over and yanked her to her feet for closer scrutiny. Her legs would not support her; he held her up only long enough to make sure the stain on her dress was not blood, and then he let her slump to the ground in a sobbing heap as he announced triumphantly to the others, "She has milk. Our chief will be pleased to have her for his son."
The Indians nodded and muttered approval, thinking how Moonstar, the wife of their chief, had died only a few days before. Her son was being fed by other nursing mothers but now that he was four years old, his demand was great and the supply limited. The chief would be pleased to have a woman with milk for his son alone.
The warrior signaled for her to be taken away. "She will live," he said. "At least until she is of no more use to Great Bear. It will be up to him to decide. Then he will let us take our pleasure as a reward for bringing her to him."
Iris did not understand what they were saying and did not know she had been spared. If she had, it would not have mattered, because she had no reason to live any longer.
Her only solace amidst the carnage was having been spared the horror of witnessing her infant and her sister being slaughtered like the rest of her family—like the rest of her world.
* * *
Violet struggled to pull away from the peaceful oblivion that shielded her mind from the nightmare of reality. But a baby was crying. Her baby? No. Her baby had died. Yet she heard the hungry wail and fought to respond, an aching in her arms and in her heart.
Her eyes flashed open, and she looked about in panic as the horror came rushing back. Lying beside her on the ground, Jacie flailed at the air with her little fists, kicking against the warm blanket that constricted her.
Violet ignored the baby as she got to her knees with heart pounding and dared to peek out through the brush that had mercifully kept the Indians from spotting her.
What she saw made her blood run cold. The carnage was sickening, and she couldn't bring herself to walk through it to look for her dead family. She wanted to remember Iris, beautiful Iris, as she was in life.
The baby began to cry louder, furious to be neglected. Pausing only to catch her breath and make impatient smacking noises with her lips, she jerked her head from side to side, instinctively seeking to be fed.
Dizzy, stomach rolling, Violet managed to collect herself. She turned away from the silent, grisly scene but knew the image would forever more be burned into her mind and soul. Buzzards circled overhead. The Indians would have made sure there were no survivors.
How long had she been unconscious? The baby was hungry again, so it had to have been several hours. Then she noticed the sun was melting toward the west; it was late afternoon, which meant she had been asleep most of the day, probably due to her weakness, as well as to her having fainted in terror. It was no wonder the baby was screaming.
Picking up Jacie, Violet fed her, and the baby settled down contentedly. Violet tried to think what she should do, for despite the grief and anguish she felt, she wished to survive. The baby seemed to be sweating, so Violet pulled the blanket away from her, feeling a strange lump in one part of the hem as she did so. Curious and grateful to have anything to take her mind off her woes, she investigated and was startled to realize that Iris had sewn some money inside the blanket. "I will see that she gets it one day, Iris," Violet whispered aloud. "I'll never be able to tell you I'm sorry for the awful things I said to you, but I'll take care of your baby. I'll treat her like she was my own—"
Violet stiffened.
...Like she was my own.
Slowly, she absorbed the words and wondered if she actually dared make them so. Who would know? she rationalized, pulse racing. There was no one left who knew about her baby being born dead, or that the one she would call her own was actually her niece. No one would ever find out. Certainly not Judd, who would mercifully be spared such grief and heartache. There would be no harm in such a deception, only good. Jacie would have parents to take care of her, and Violet would not have to worry about losing the only man she had ever loved.
Her eyes fell on the locket where it had fallen to the ground when she had fainted. Loosening a few threads in the blanket's hem, she hid the locket inside with the money. One day perhaps she would give everything to Jacie and tell her the truth, but not while Judd was alive. Till then, it would be Violet's deep dark secret.
She fell asleep then and was not aware when the soldiers finally arrived after seeing the smoke. They immediately set about the grisly task of burying what was left of the bodies as quickly as possible. It was not until they had finished and were preparing to leave that they heard the sound of an infant crying in the gathering shadows of dusk.
Two of the soldiers went to investigate, daring to hope a mother might somehow have managed to hide her baby before the Indians were fully upon them. They moved cautiously in the dusk, making their way toward the sound. Seeing the squalling infant, arms and legs kicking mightily as it lay beside a woman's still body, the men exchanged fearful glances.
Violet stirred and moaned softly as she tried once more to answer the needs of the baby—her baby, she reminded herself groggily.
"She's alive," said one of the soldiers. He dropped to one knee. "Are you hurt, ma'am?"
Wild-eyed with fear, Violet grabbed Jacie and held her tight against her.
"It's all right, ma'am. No need to be scared. We're soldiers, and we're going to take care of you. But I need to know if you're hurt."
Violet shook her head, Jacie was howling lustily, but she could do nothing for her at the moment and commenced to describe how she, along with her baby, had escaped death.
The soldiers wanted to know how many men, women, and children had been in the caravan so they could tell whether any captives had been taken. Days later, when she was told that there was one woman not accounted for, Violet would not let herself think it might be Iris, that the Indians might have taken her with them. She had seen
her die, hadn't she? But the massacre had happened so fast; she could not be sure what she really saw. Still, the missing woman's body had probably been dragged away by wild animals before the soldiers got there. She forced herself to dismiss any doubts from her mind.
Violet was taken to the post infirmary after an all-night ride and put to bed with Jacie in her arms. Toward noon, Judd came into the room, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shoulders slumped. His deep despair over Iris's death had ravaged him, making him age overnight.
"I don't feel like talking right now," he said in a barely audible voice. "Don't reckon you do, either. We'll have time later." He turned and walked out.
Violet smiled. Yes, there would be time, lots of time, because he would never leave her now, not when they had a child.
Violet knew that Judd was truly hers, at long last, for he would no longer torment himself with wanting Iris.
Then and there, Violet promised herself that if it took till her dying breath to make it happen, one day she would hear him say that he loved her.
Those precious words were all Violet was living for.
Chapter 1
North Georgia, 1858
Zach Newton, hands on his hips, looked down at the dark-haired girl with the shining lavender eyes and shook his head. "Miss Jacie, you're goin' to get me in a whole heap of trouble." In more ways than one, he thought, wondering if Jacie Calhoun knew how excited he got just being near her. "Mr. Blake will have my hide if he knows I'm teachin' you how to jump. You know how he feels about that."
Jacie dismissed his protest with a wrinkle of her nose as she stuck one booted foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. She didn't think anything about Zach cupping her bottom as he gave her a boost, confident he regarded her in the same way the rest of the plantation workers did. She was a tomboy; she had grown up around most of them.
They knew she would much rather wear trousers and spend her days galloping on her horse than wear dresses and do boring things like learning to tat and sew.
Comfortable in the saddle, she took the reins and said, "Set the bar on the top."
He swung his head from side to side again. "Miss Jacie, I ain't gonna do it. That's too high for you."
She leaned down and tweaked his cheek playfully between thumb and forefinger. "Do be a dear for me, Zach, please. Michael will be coming home from Richmond today. I won't have another chance for a while, because it's next to impossible for us to slip off this way if he's at home. Besides, his mother is giving me a big party for my birthday next week, and I'll be busy with that."
Like everyone at Red Oakes, Zach knew about the party. People would be coming from all over because it would be the first social since old man Halsey Blake had died. The mourning period was over and it was expected that Michael was going to want to marry Jacie soon. Zach didn't like that one bit. When Mr. Halsey had hired him as an overseer, Zach had taken a shine to Jacie right off.
He had been all set to court her, till one of the other overseers tipped him off that Michael Blake, the future master of Red Oakes, had designs on her himself. Zach couldn't see that. After all, money married money, and the Calhouns sure didn't have any; in fact, Jacie's father was nothing more than a blacksmith on the plantation. But she was a fine piece of woman-flesh, and Zach couldn't blame Michael for thumbing his nose at anybody who thought he was courting someone beneath his class.
"Are you going to set the bar?" Jacie asked impatiently. "Please, Zach. I can make it. I know I can."
"I just don't see why you're riskin' your pretty little neck," he grumbled.
"Because it's something I haven't done before."
He felt like telling her he could think of something else she probably hadn't done yet, and how he'd sure like to teach her about that too, but held his tongue. "Well, it's your neck." He went to the hurdle and set it the way she wanted.
Jacie set the horse into a gentle trot toward the far end of the clearing. She would need a good distance to get up the speed necessary to clear the bar.
She felt herself sweating, but it was not from fear. Jacie could not remember ever being afraid of anything in her whole life. It was the scorching August day that made her perspire. The old shirt she wore, one that belonged to her father, was plastered to her, and her hair was damp against her neck.
Halsey Blake had cleared this strip of land, intending to plant more scuppernong vines between the river and the cornfields, but he had died before seeing it done. Michael had been too busy learning to run the entire plantation; therefore the section remained barren and made a wonderful place for Jacie to sneak off to so Zach could give her riding lessons. The tall stalks of corn kept them from being seen by anyone at the big house.
She reined the horse about and saw that Zach had placed the wooden crossbar in the highest slot. He waved at her and yelled, "Dig in like I told you, and let the horse decide when to jump."
The horse pawed the ground impatiently and tried to toss his head, but Jacie held the reins, pulling down on the harness. The horse might be ready, but she wasn't, because she wanted to savor the moment of anticipation. To Jacie, life was a series of hurdles that could be conquered only by courage and determination. Each time she felt she was about to make a fateful leap, it was exhilarating, and she tried to make the feeling last as long as possible.
She thought of Michael; Zach had been right when he said Michael wouldn't approve. Michael's brother Edward had died of a broken neck in a riding accident when he was only fourteen. Even though Red Oakes was known for its fine stock, hurdle jumping had not been allowed since the tragedy.
But Jacie loved riding, including the hurdles, which she was determined to conquer despite the ban.
She pressed her thighs against the horse and leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "Do it, boy." At the same time, she dug her heels into his flanks and gave the reins a flip. The horse took off at a full gallop, his mane slapping Jacie's cheek as she raised herself slightly in the saddle. She was braced, she was ready. She had done it before and knew what to expect, knew that when the horse started to leap up and over, she would instinctively stretch herself to almost lie along his great neck as he cleared. She would go limber for just an instant, then brace herself for the jolt sure to come when his hooves hit the ground on the other side.
The hurdle loomed closer. Jacie could actually feel the anticipation rippling through the horse. Zach stood hack, watching intently, nervously.
The horse was about to lunge. Jacie commanded herself to yield to the movement. It was going to happen. She was going to make the highest jump ever and she laughed out loud at the sheer thrill of the moment.
The sound of a voice, sharp and loud, angry and frightened, rang out in the stillness.
"Jacie, no!"
She tensed, did not relax her body as the mighty horse lunged. Losing her balance, she fell backward and to the side. Her shoulders struck the ground first, then her head. She felt a sharp pain just before a dizzying blackness consumed her.
"Jacie, can you hear me?"
The frantic urging came out of the thick fog that enshrouded her. Her head felt heavy and was throbbing. She heard a groan and realized it came from her.
"Jacie—"
"Here. Let me put this under her nose," another voice interrupted.
Something sharp, acrid, and quite annoying filled her nostrils. She fought against it, slinging her head from side to side, which made the aching worse. Her eyes flashed open as she protested against the foul odor of the ammonia. "No. Take it away."
She saw two faces staring down at her anxiously, and one of them belonged to Michael. Groggily, she reached to brush back the unruly curl that forever seemed to topple onto his forehead. It was a gesture he adored, and he caught her fingertips and pressed them to his lips. "Thank God, you're going to be all right," he said, then darted a nervous glance at the man beside him. "She is, isn't she?"
Dr. Foley said, "I think so. She's had a bad bump on the head, but there are no broken bo
nes. She's a very lucky girl."
"And a very foolish one," Michael said, frowning. He could wait no longer to scold her. "What were you thinking of? You could have been killed."
It was all coming back to her, and Jacie felt the anger rise up in her. "I was doing fine till you came along and ruined everything, Michael. If you hadn't yelled when you did, I'd have made that jump."
"But you had no business trying. I'm going to have Zach Newton's head for this. He ran to get Doc Foley and I haven't had a chance to speak to him since. But I will, you can be sure of that."
Jacie saw the pinpoints of anger flashing in his blue eyes. She had seen his temper erupt in the past. He was a man to be reckoned with when angry, and she was not about to allow him to vent his rage on Zach for something that was her idea in the first place. "It's not his fault. Promise me you won't punish him."
"He knows better than to go behind my back like that," he said through clenched teeth.
"I had a right to do what I wanted. How did you find me, anyway?"
"I went looking for you as soon as I got home from Richmond. Your mother said you'd gone riding. Then Sudie told me she saw you and Newton going through the cornfield, so that's where I headed."
"Sudie..." Jacie nodded to herself. "I might have known. She's always watching me."
"Because she adores you."
Jacie knew that was so, and it was also the reason she was not really angry with the little Negro girl. She was only eight years old, and since it was a rule at Red Oakes that children under ten did not work in the fields, Sudie tagged after Jacie whenever possible, offering to help with whatever she might be doing.
Michael ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "You try my patience, Jacie. God knows, you're the most headstrong woman I've ever met. You never listen to anything I say. What am I going to do with you?"
Dr. Foley closed his worn leather bag. "I'll stop back by in the morning and see how you're feeling. Will you be here or at home?" Everyone knew Michael Blake had plans to marry Jacie Calhoun, so it was easy to assume he would make her comfortable in his house while she was recuperating from her fall.
Tin-Stars and Troublemakers Box Set (Four Complete Historical Western Romance Novels in One) Page 99