The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Susan Page Davis, Melanie Dobson, Cathy Liggett, Vickie McDonough, Olivia Newport, Janet Spaeth, Jennifer Rogers Spinola

Jack called Alan’s name again and again.

  Still no response.

  Jack looked in the back of his own wagon first, but there was no sign of Alan. Next he checked Cole’s wagon. The boy wasn’t there either. Just one more wagon to look in, and Jack would have no choice but to head for the woods.

  Please let me find him, Lord, Jack prayed as he hurried to Walter’s wagon.

  “Is there a problem?” Walter asked when Jack approached.

  “I’m lookin’ for my boy. Thought maybe he might have wandered over here and climbed inside your wagon.”

  Walter’s forehead creased. “He’d better not be in there, or I’ll tan the little runt’s hide.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Walter. “Let’s get one thing clear, Mr. Prentice. You are never to lay a hand on my son. Is that understood?”

  “Then keep him away from my wagon!”

  “I don’t even know if he’s here.” Jack pulled the flap of the wagon open and blinked when he saw Alan crouched in one corner, holding a jar of candy. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted, feeling anger and relief as he fought for control.

  Alan hung his head and moved toward the open flap. “I wanted candy, Papa.”

  Before Jack could respond, Walter reached inside and snatched the jar from Alan. “Why, you little thief!” Red-faced, he turned to Jack. “What are you going to do about this?”

  Jack lifted his son into his arms and set him on the ground. “It was wrong to get into Mr. Prentice’s wagon and take his jar of candy. Now tell the man you’re sorry and that you’ll never do anything like that again.”

  “I–I’m sorry, Mister.” Alan’s chin quivered.

  Walter folded his arms and glared at the boy. “Well, you should be. If I was your father, I’d teach you a good lesson and you’d never steal from anyone again.”

  “He didn’t exactly steal the jar of candy,” Jack defended.

  “He would have, if we hadn’t caught him in the act.” Walter held the jar of candy close to his chest. “If anything like this ever happens again—”

  “It won’t. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure my boy stays clear of your wagon and your precious jar of candy.” Hoisting Alan onto his shoulders, Jack headed back to his own wagon, where he found Cole had finished putting the wheel back on.

  “Glad to see you found your boy.” Cole motioned to the wheel. “It’s fixed, and we’re set to roll. I saw you brought some grease along, too, so I lubed it up for you.”

  “Thanks. Guess I should do that more often,” Jack said. “I’ll be ready in a minute. Just need to have a little talk with Alan.”

  As Cole headed for his horse, Jack set Alan on the wagon bench and took a seat beside him. “Now listen to me, Son, and listen good. What you did was wrong, and you need to be punished.”

  Tears welled in Alan’s eyes. “Are ya gonna whip me, Papa?”

  “No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “But if the women fix dessert this evening, you won’t be getting any. And you’ll be goin’ to bed as soon as we’re done eating.”

  “Ya mean before Amelia?”

  “Yes, your sister will get to stay up longer than you tonight.”

  “I’ll be scared in that ole’ wagon by myself,” Alan whined.

  “I’m sorry about that, but maybe some time alone in the dark will give you a chance to think about what you did today.”

  “Said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry is good, but God’s Word tells us that it’s wrong to steal, and I want you to realize that and make sure it never happens again.”

  “It won’t, Papa.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows and patted Alan’s knee. “I’m glad to hear it. Now sit real still while I get your sister, because it’s time to get the wagons moving again.”

  As they continued their trek along the rutted trail, Cynthia sensed irritation in Walter. She’d never met a man as moody as him. His eyebrows always seemed to be furrowed, and for the last hour he hadn’t said more than a few words to her or Mama. Did she dare ask what was wrong, or would it be best to say nothing and hope he became more agreeable as the day wore on?

  Deciding on the latter, Cynthia turned to Mama and said, “The next time we stop for a break, I’m going to get down from the wagon and walk. Sitting on this unyielding bench is hard on my back, and it’ll feel good to stretch my legs.”

  “Walking’s not easy either,” Mama complained. “It won’t be long and the soles of our boots will have holes in them.”

  “It’s a good thing we had the presence of mind to bring along more than one pair of boots,” Cynthia said.

  “Yes,” Mama agreed, “but unless we walk less and ride more, two pair may not last till we get to California.”

  “You women are worried about nothing,” Walter chimed in. “When we were back in Independence, I bought you both an extra pair of boots, as well as a few new dresses. They’re in the trunk with the other clothes.”

  Cynthia smiled, appreciative that he’d been so considerate. Perhaps Walter had more good qualities than she realized. He really did seem to care about their welfare. Mama must have thought so, too, for she looked at Walter and smiled.

  “Did ya get it?” Cole yelled in the direction of the gunfire. When they’d stopped for the night, Cole had left Walter with the women and children while he and Jack went hunting for fresh game.

  “Yep. The feathers are still flying, but I got that big bird!” Jack hollered back.

  “Hot diggity!” Cole let out a whoop as he approached Jack on the other side of a small ridge. “That’s a nice one.”

  “You bet.” Jack grinned, obviously proud of the wild turkey he’d shot. “Everyone’s bellies will be full tonight. I can taste this bird already.”

  Cole gave Jack a slap on the back. “Just look at the size of him. Why, I’ll bet that turkey weighs at least twenty pounds.”

  “He’s a big one—that’s for sure.”

  “Guess we’d better get back to the wagons so we can get it cleaned and roasting over the campfire,” Cole suggested after he’d offered to carry Jack’s gun. “I’ll let you carry your prize.”

  “Can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s face when we walk into camp with this,” Jack said.

  Jack was about to pick up the bird when Cole heard a low growl. He stopped abruptly. Jack did the same. The men looked at each other, but neither moved any farther.

  “Here, take your gun.” Cole handed Jack the gun he’d shot the turkey with. “Now, we’re gonna turn around real slow.”

  They both turned in unison to face the growling menace. Standing on a rock a few feet away was a large gray wolf, with head lowered and teeth barred. Off to the right, stood another one, and to the left a third wolf.

  “Looks as if they want our supper,” Jack whispered as the other two wolves started growling.

  “They haven’t come any closer. Maybe they’re testing us,” Cole said, hoping he was right. One thing for sure, he figured they were hungry and waiting to steal Jack’s catch. Cole wasn’t about to let that happen. “I hate to waste ammo on those varmints, so let’s make a lot of noise and see if that spooks ’em off.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jack agreed, and he and Cole started yelling and waving their arms.

  Without breaking eye contact, Cole leaned down, picked up a hefty rock, and threw it at the biggest wolf. It must have been enough, because all three wolves ran into the woods.

  “Come on, let’s get outta here and head back to camp,” Cole said as Jack picked up the turkey and slung it over his shoulder.

  Jack led the way while Cole practically walked backward, making sure the wolves didn’t return and chase after them. “We’re gonna have to keep a watch for those wolves,” he panted. “We only saw three, and hopefully, there’s no more of ’em.”

  That evening, as they sat around the campfire, everyone seemed content after eating the meal they’d recently finished. Cynthia had to admit, eating turkey basted over an open f
ire was just as good, if not better, than the oven-roasted turkeys they’d had back home. It wasn’t like the lavish meals they used to have, but cooked potatoes along with the succulent, tender turkey meat sure tasted good.

  When Virginia brought out a pan of bread and some jam for dessert, Jack looked over at his boy and said, “None for you, Son. Remember what I said today?”

  Alan hung his head.

  “And it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  “Amelia, too?” Alan questioned.

  “No, she gets to stay up awhile, remember?” Jack picked up his son and headed toward their wagon. While he put Alan to bed, Cynthia moved over to sit beside Amelia. She was such a pretty child and so well behaved. What a shame Amelia wouldn’t talk. Cynthia was sure there was a lot to say locked inside the little girl. If there was just some way to get her to open up. Amelia did flash Virginia a small grin when she handed her some bread slathered with jam. Cynthia thought that was progress.

  A short time later, Jack returned, and Virginia handed him a slice of bread with jelly.

  “Thanks,” he said, offering her a weary smile. It was clearly hard for him to make this trip with two small children and no wife. Cynthia admired his determination to make a better life for Alan and Amelia in California. She hoped he did well as a cattle rancher.

  Hearing a noise, Cynthia glanced to her left and was surprised to see Alan running away from Walter’s wagon. Walter must have seen him at that moment, for he leapt up from the log where he sat and hollered, “Were you in my wagon again?”

  With eyes wide and head hung low, Alan made a beeline for his father’s wagon.

  Cynthia held her breath, waiting to see what Jack would do, but before he made a move, the boy began to choke.

  Cole, sitting the closest to Alan, jumped up, grabbed the child, and turned him upside-down. Then he gave Alan’s back a good whack, and out popped a lemon drop. Everyone gasped, and Alan started to howl. Whether it was from the trauma of choking or from fear of being found out, Cynthia didn’t know.

  Walter’s face turned red, and he scowled at Jack. “I can’t believe that boy stole from me! I thought you had talked to him about this.”

  “Walter, it was only a piece of candy,” Cynthia put in, hoping to diffuse Walter’s temper.

  “No one asked you,” he said sharply. “As I said earlier, that child needs to be taught a good lesson!”

  “I did punish him,” Jack said defensively. “And he will be punished again.”

  “Maybe you should remove the temptation,” Virginia interjected, looking at Walter.

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Perhaps you should throw out the candy,” she said. “Lemon drops can be dangerous, especially for a child.”

  “Which is exactly why the little thief shouldn’t be eating my candy!” Walter faced Jack with an angry expression. “You’d better take care of that boy of yours, because I’m not getting rid of my jar of candy!” With that, Walter stalked off toward his wagon like a stuck-up little rich boy instead of a grown man.

  Cynthia cringed. She couldn’t believe how stubborn and selfish Walter was being. Alan was only a child, and the temptation of Walter’s candy was hard to pass up. Surely those lemon drops couldn’t be that important to the man. Why couldn’t he be kinder and have more patience, like Jack?

  “Well,” Cole said, “I think it’s best if we all head for bed. Mornin’ comes quick, and since we’re already behind in our travels, we need to get an early start tomorrow. So make sure you’re up bright and early.”

  Everyone headed to their wagons, and when Cynthia and her mother crawled into the back of Walter’s wagon, Cynthia expressed her thoughts about Walter. Unfortunately, Mama didn’t agree.

  “Personally, I think Walter was right,” Mama said. “I also believe that as his betrothed, you should support him on this matter, not take sides with a man like Jack.”

  “A man like Jack? What’s that supposed to mean?” Cynthia questioned.

  “He’s clearly not a good father. What those children need is a mother to keep them in line.”

  Like you’ve always kept me in line? Cynthia thought. Ever since she was a child, she’d done whatever Mama said. I wish I felt free to break my engagement to Walter and find something new and adventuresome to do. I fear that my life as Mrs. Walter Prentice will not be easy.

  Chapter 5

  Dear Diary,

  Cole says we’re over halfway to California now, and even though we’re all quite weary, everyone shares a sense of excitement.

  We’ve had some setbacks along the way—repairs to the wagons, rain and mud bogging us down, and trouble crossing some of the rivers, but nothing we weren’t able to handle. Things are going along fairly well now, albeit slow, as some days we only make five miles or so. Other days we’re able to travel ten to fifteen miles. We have given up catching the larger wagon train that went before us, but Cole thinks we’re managing fine on our own. I pray he’s right about that.

  We must be on the right trail, at least. We’ve passed several places along the way where things had been discarded, probably to lighten their load. Some of the pieces of furniture we saw had no doubt been beautiful once. I can’t imagine how the people felt leaving behind belongings—perhaps family heirlooms—to rot away in this untamed wilderness.

  Even sadder than seeing personal items cast along the trail was looking at the occasional mounds of dirt with a wooden cross that had someone’s name carved on it. I can’t help wondering what took those people’s lives. Was it smallpox, cholera, or some other disease? Or perhaps their deaths had been caused by something else. Thankfully, no one from our three wagons has gotten sick, so that’s something to be grateful for.

  Some time ago, I volunteered to take turns with Cole’s sister to look after Jack’s children during the day. They ride in Cole’s wagon with Virginia during the morning hours and with me in their father’s wagon throughout the afternoon. That has kept mischievous Alan out of trouble, and there’s been no more of him sneaking into Walter’s wagon in search of candy. The boy really isn’t a bad child. He’s just curious and eager, like most boys his age. Alan’s sister, Amelia, still hasn’t spoken, but she’s an agreeable child and does whatever she’s told. In the evenings when we’ve stopped for the night, the children hover close to their father, especially when those terrible wolves start to howl. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that eerie noise. It frightened me when Cole told how he and Jack had encountered some wolves, and I’ve been wary ever since. I try not to think about it, but sometimes it sounds as if the wolves are right outside our camp, and I’m afraid they might be following us.

  Virginia and I are well acquainted by now, and I find her to be quite pleasant. She talks a lot about Cole’s dream of finding gold and also how eager she is to teach school once they’re settled in California. I wish I could say that I was as eager to get there as Virginia is, but maybe I’ll feel differently once we arrive.

  Cynthia sighed and lifted her pen as her thoughts turned back to Alan and Amelia. Spending time with Jack’s children made her wish she was a mother. Maybe she would be someday, but it still concerned her as to what kind of father Walter would make. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, Cynthia was nowhere near ready to become Walter’s wife. He could be so stuffy at times when she herself was so full of life. Sometimes it felt as if she were bursting at the seams.

  But what other choice do I have? she thought, glancing at Walter as he took his seat on the bench and gathered up the reins. I accepted his proposal and gave Mama my word that I’d marry Walter, so I can’t back out of it now. Besides, Mama and I would have no way to support ourselves once we get to California, so I need to get the crazy notion out of my head that there is someone better for me than Walter.

  Mable watched her daughter out of the corner of her eye, wondering what she was thinking. She hoped it wasn’t about Jack or Cole.

  These days Cynthia said very little
to Walter, and that concerned Mable. What worried her even more was how attached Cynthia had become to Jack’s children, acting as if she were their mother. As she rode in Jack’s wagon with Alan and Amelia, no doubt making conversation with their father, Mable had seen the way Jack looked at Cynthia—like she was something special. Cole looked at her that way as well and often made snide remarks about Walter whenever Cynthia was around. Was he trying to poison her against the man she was engaged to marry? Did Cole think he was better than Walter because he had more knowledge about wilderness survival and could do many things with his hands? Walter could do things, too—things neither Cole nor Jack were capable of. Walter was a smart man when it came to business dealings, and in Mable’s book, that meant a lot.

  I need to keep an eye on things, she told herself, swatting at a pesky fly buzzing around her head. My top priority is making sure Cynthia doesn’t get any ideas about Jack or Cole and goes through with the wedding once we get to California. After all, Walter’s a much better catch for my daughter than either of those men. He’s a lot wealthier, too.

  “When we gonna get to Californy?” Alan asked, tugging on the sleeve of Virginia’s dress.

  “It’s California,” she patiently replied. “And we’ll get there when we get there.”

  “Papa says ‘fore Christmas.”

  Virginia nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be there in plenty of time for Christmas.”

  “Does Santy Claus know the way to Californy?” the boy questioned.

  She let go of the reins with one hand and gave the boy’s knee a quick pat. “I’m sure he will be able to find it.”

  “That’s good, ’cause I wouldn’t wanna live there if Santa couldn’t come.”

  Virginia smiled, remembering how when she and Cole were children, they used to sneak downstairs on Christmas Eve after everyone was in bed, planning to wait up for Santa. They’d never gotten a glimpse of him and had always fallen asleep. She could see little Alan doing something like that. With his determined spirit, he’d probably stay awake all night in the hopes of getting a look at Santa Claus as he put presents under the tree.