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

  “How many of them are there?” Silas whispered, and Juliet heard the sound of Posy’s muffled tears. “They’re all around us. We’re hemmed in. We’ll never make it.”

  “There’s no other route?” Juliet demanded. She clutched Carrie Ann tighter. “This can’t be the only way across the prairie, Papa. Tell me I’m mistaken.”

  “Seems like it is, on this side of the mountains,” said Papa as he wiped his balding head with a handkerchief. “There’s nothing out that way but prairie, and impassable travel the rest of it—no water and too many rocks.” He shook his head. “This was supposed to be an easy stretch, my girl. Relations were peaceful. Nobody’s had a lick of trouble with this part of the territories—not a lick.”

  “Well, it’s a fine mess now.” Juliet fumed.

  Jacob glanced up. “It depends on how you look at it, Juliet,” he drawled.

  “What? There’s nothing good about any of it.”

  “Oh yes there is. You’re still alive.”

  “Elizabeth?” Posy reached out and grabbed her arm. “Elizabeth, are you okay?”

  Juliet looked up just in time to see Elizabeth slide into a heap on the grass, her arms limp. “Oh, my goodness.” She thrust squirming Carrie Ann at Posy and lifted Elizabeth’s head into her lap. “Elizabeth?” She touched her face and neck to gauge her temperature. “What’s wrong?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered, and she rolled to one side. “I’m sick,” she murmured, and Juliet felt Elizabeth’s body shake with tremors, like a chill after snow.

  Chapter 4

  October 16

  Juliet.” Somebody shook her. “Wake up.”

  Juliet forced her eyes open to a brilliant yellow lantern light. At first she thought she might have cholera like Elizabeth: her arms and legs felt stiff and cold, immobile under the heavy quilt, and her neck ached from sleeping in an awkward position, slumped up against Silas’s shoulder, her head resting against the side of the Hubbards’ wagon. She could feel deep lines from the wooden planks gouged in her cheeks, and her mouth felt as dry as biscuit flour.

  When she shook out the folds in the quilt, fine bits of snow sprinkled out.

  It had snowed like that the day they buried Elizabeth—just a few flakes, as if the sky itself was weeping lacy tears. Juliet had cried until her eyes swelled, shivering, barely able to eat. It was cholera that had taken Elizabeth—she was sure of it.

  And nothing she had done could save Elizabeth. None of her tinctures, the quinine, nothing. Not even the prairie coneflowers. She’d saved Sam Crowley’s horse, but she’d lost Elizabeth.

  All that was left now was Carrie Ann, who nursed from Mrs. Diamond but would only sleep when Juliet held her.

  Before she sat up, Juliet moved her hand across the warm spot where she’d been sleeping, feeling for Carrie Ann. There she was, a chubby ball of sweetness, wrapped in the softest blanket Juliet could find. Carrie Ann stirred in her sleep and stretched out a tiny hand as if to search for Juliet’s warmth.

  “I’m sorry to wake you.” Posy knelt next to Juliet in a thick wool nightdress, her nose and cheeks cherry-pink with cold.

  “Somebody else shot?” Juliet patted Carrie Ann’s cheek and reached for her wool overcoat.

  “Not since Mr. Diamond.”

  “Cholera?”

  “Nope. Just the two they buried yesterday.” Posy shivered under her quilt. “This time Mrs. Henderson thinks William has the croup. She’s awfully worried.”

  In the distance a rifle sounded, like a crack of thunder, and Juliet jumped. “I can’t believe we left a war back east just to come to another one.” Juliet tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes as she buttoned her coat. “You sound awfully awake for this time of night.”

  “Can’t sleep. Too hungry.” Posy’s eyes looked large and liquid in her thin face. She was bareheaded, with her pretty hair streaming over her shoulder. “We’re gonna run out of food if this keeps up, you know—especially when the snows come. There’s nothing to eat around here but some prairie chickens and a couple of field mice. One of the Carlson boys caught a rattler, and they ate it up before we could even divvy it up among everybody fair and square.”

  Juliet’s stomach rumbled in response.

  “The Hendersons split up their rations for our breakfast yesterday morning,” Posy continued in a whisper. “But the Bagbys didn’t. They held back some of their best flour and bacon. I saw it under the quilts when I helped Constance Bagby with her youngest baby.”

  Jacob was still gone. Juliet saw his quilt hastily tossed aside, and Silas’s folded and hung over the wagon beam. “Jacob and Silas aren’t back yet?” she asked as she picked up her medical satchel. “It’s been three days.”

  “Nope. Out scouting for help,” said Posy in a way that sounded to Juliet a little too quick—and too worried. “I know they were talking about trying to reach that French outpost on the other side of the mountain. If we can still cross.”

  “It’ll take them ages to rescue us going that way.”

  “Right. And we’ll probably all be dead of cholera by then, or something equally gruesome.”

  Juliet couldn’t answer, remembering Elizabeth. She stroked a hand down Carrie Ann’s rounded cheek and prayed against all hope for her to grow strong and healthy.

  “How bad is William?” Juliet shook one of her little glass vials, hoping her tinctures weren’t frozen.

  “She said he’s coughing up a storm. Whatever that means in doctor’s lingo.” Posy knelt down and stroked Carrie Ann’s back. “I’ll watch the baby for you.”

  Juliet patted her hair in place with her free hand as she lugged her satchel through the darkened camp, her lantern casting long shadows on wagon wheels and clotheslines. Dogs snoozed on their sides, and even the chickens slept, roosting underneath wagons. Mrs. Bagby must have been unable to sleep, too, because she looked up from rearranging their stacks of petticoats and corsets in the back of the wagon, meeting Juliet’s eyes with a gaunt look. Juliet turned her face away in embarrassment, pretending not to see. With the wagons so tightly together, there was precious little privacy—either night or day.

  Even using the bathroom in a wagon circle was an ordeal—in which, as in so many things in life, men again had a natural advantage.

  “Hey, Juliet—slow down a second.”

  Juliet paused then turned her head toward the voice—and the brash use of her first name. Jacob Pike seemed to materialize out of the shadows and fell in step beside her.

  “You’re back already?” She held up the lantern to see him better.

  “Snow over the south pass. We couldn’t get through.”

  “So no word to the French outpost, then.”

  “Nope.”

  She leaned forward to see his arm, which looked strange straight down by its side, out of its sling. “You’ve taken your bandage off.”

  “It was about time, I guess. It’s feeling better after that Army doc cleaned the last bit of infection for me back at the trading post.” Jacob glanced over his shoulder like he was nervous. “Never mind my arm. We need to talk. Just give me five minutes at the horse pen, okay? Pretend I’ve got a sick horse.”

  “Pardon?” Juliet burst out.

  And Jacob didn’t answer. He disappeared toward the livestock pen, turning only once to look back over his shoulder before his face blurred with shadow.

  Juliet seethed a moment, furious, then turned and followed Jacob. She squeezed between two wagons near the horse pen and stepped carefully, holding up her long skirts up from the soiled, straw-covered ground. There was Jacob with his back to her, kneeling on the ground by the spotted gelding.

  Jacob looked up. “Oh, hey, Doc. Lucky needs you to take a look at his … um … spleen.”

  “You must be joking.” She set down the lantern.

  “Okay, his stomach. Whatever. And hand me that horseshoe over there, will you?”

  “What, here?” She picked it up and held it out, but he ignored her. So she bent next to him, the
long, cold grasses poking through her layers of petticoats and calico, and shoved the shoe at him. “Whatever it is, hurry up. I’ve got to go.”

  “We need to defect,” he whispered, not looking up. “Don’t react. People are watching. Just listen.”

  Juliet felt her heart beat in her throat. She ran her hands along the gelding’s side and pretended to check his organs.

  “We’re not going to make it.” Jacob spoke so quietly his lips barely seemed to move. “The Cheyenne are calling in reinforcements, if the scouts are right, and they want to lay claim to this whole area. But Sam Crowley doesn’t believe it.”

  “Why not?” Her breath misted.

  “He thinks the cavalry can hold them off if they get reinforcements from Fort Phil Kearny back near Buffalo. But I’m telling you—I’ve been there. They’re wiped out from the war like everybody else. We all are. And if you’ll forgive me for saying so, they’ve lost some of their best soldiers. Quite a lot of them.”

  Jacob’s brown eyes settled on hers, and Juliet stiffened.

  “And whose fault is that, Jacob?” she snapped.

  “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “No, because you can’t tell the truth. It’s the fault of the South, and you deserved to fall apart—but you didn’t have a right to take us with you. At least we accomplished one thing: ending the horrible institution of slavery.”

  “You ended it in some ways. Yes.”

  “Of course we did! You know what the Emancipation Proclamation says. What do you mean ‘in some ways’?”

  “I mean exactly what I said—in some ways. I just don’t think it’s as cut-and-dried as you think. Reason with me here—if the righteous Union was so all-fired anxious about destroying slavery, why didn’t you do it two hundred years ago?” Jacob tipped his head back to look up at her. “The truth is that your industries in the North profited just as much from slavery as anybody else’s. Who buys our Southern cotton and our tobacco?” He tugged on her sleeve. “Why, you do, don’t you? I might be mistaken, but I’m pretty sure cotton doesn’t grow in Maryland. Please. Set me straight.”

  Juliet jerked her sleeve away—her pulse throbbing angrily in her throat—unable to form a reply fast enough.

  “The same cotton and tobacco produced by the blood and sweat of slaves, with full knowledge on your part. That’s where it gets a little less clear who’s at fault, doesn’t it? The truth is we’re all guilty. The entire human race. We’re sick, every single one of us, no matter which part of the country we’re from.”

  He sat back on his heels. “Let me tell you something: A legal emancipation of slaves, as good as it is, will never make people view another human being as an equal, as a brother. And that’s where the real slavery lies—in people’s hearts and minds. And there’s not a law on earth except the law of Christ that can change people to the core, where they really need it.”

  And with that, Jacob picked up the horseshoe and turned back to the gelding. “Anything else you’d like to discuss about the war?” His smiled showed straight white teeth, and Juliet hated him.

  She started to stand up. “I don’t know why I bothered to talk to you.”

  “Because you need to get ready to leave. Tonight. The snows are coming soon, and we’re not going to make it if we stay here. I’ve got a map, and I’m pretty sure I can get us to the Crow camp—or at least into the general area.”

  “Pretty sure? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jacob ignored her. “I’ve talked to your stepfather and Silas, and they’re in.”

  “What?” Juliet burst out. The gelding snorted and swung his head around, swishing his tail.

  “Easy, boy,” Jacob whispered as he motioned to Juliet to keep it down.

  But Juliet didn’t feel like shushing. “Leave, Jacob? Are you kidding? Papa’s heart is bad—he can’t take a journey anywhere. I’m surprised he made it this far.”

  Jacob put his finger to his lips again. “Shh!” he hissed, and shot her an indignant glare. “I told you to keep it quiet.”

  “And that’s another thing. Why all the secrecy? It’s shameful, slinking off at night—abandoning the others.” A man looked up from cleaning a saddle to watch her. Juliet quickly leaned over the horse’s head and made a pretense of checking his teeth.

  Jacob tapped on the horseshoe again. “I’ve heard the other guys talking. They want to start shooting the horses and oxen for food, one by one—but Sam Crowley claims his cows have Texas fever and aren’t fit to be eaten.”

  “What? No.” Juliet jerked her head up. “They’re as healthy a team as I’ve seen. I checked them myself.”

  “Don Bagby said the same thing. Suggested we draw lots for whose horses go first—and that he’d make up the lots.”

  “I don’t trust that man a bit.”

  “That’s just the beginning.” Jacob leaned forward earnestly. “The others are hoarding food, too—and when it all comes down to push and shove, they’ll let you starve. I’m sure of it.”

  Juliet twisted the strap of her medical satchel between her fingers, remembering what Posy had said about food hidden in the Bagby wagon.

  “Where are we supposed to go? The moon?” She waved an arm. “There’s nobody around here for miles, except the Cheyenne. You’ve already said the forts are struggling to fend off attacks—so what’s your plan? We can’t make it to Montana, and we can’t turn back. There’s no one left.”

  “There is somebody left.” Jacob gave a few calculating blows on the horseshoe, groaned, then sucked his injured thumb. He put the hammer down.

  “Who?”

  “The Crow. Enemies of the Cheyenne.”

  “The who?”

  “The Crow tribe—the Absaroka, in their language. If we can make it far enough north without getting shot. I’ve been through these parts enough to think I can get us there.”

  Juliet stared at him, her mouth partially open. “You’ve gone mad. You’ve been on the trail too long, and you’ve gone completely mad. What good is it to flee to another Indian tribe?” She threw up her hands. “They’ll kill us and scalp us, too, just like the others.”

  “Not necessarily. We’ve had good relations with the Crow, and they’ve been known to treat white settlers with kindness.” He scratched his head. “Although perhaps they shouldn’t, with all the disease and thievery we’ve visited on them. But they’re our only hope. If we can make it to their camp and bring them a gift—like some rifles or some gold—I believe they’ll spare us.”

  “What in the world gives you that idea?”

  “History. Don’t you read the newspapers? I’ve seen stories like that enough times to think it just might work.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “I think it will. But if it doesn’t, at least we won’t starve to death.”

  “Right. Because they’ll shoot us.”

  “Well”—Jacob shrugged—“since you put it that way. But given the choice, which way would you rather go?”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Neither can I.” Jacob shook his head, the dents in his hat shadowed in the beam of lantern light. “But it’s the reality of things, and we don’t have much time to make decisions. So we’re making one. Stay if you want—but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come with us.”

  Juliet scrambled to her feet then shook the dirt and grass from her apron and skirt. “You, Jacob Pike, have poisoned my brother and stepfather with your nonsense. You want us to surrender to savages? They’re not our kind! They’re violent, and I don’t trust them.”

  Jacob scowled. “They’re people, not cannibals. And they’re not much different from the slaves you defend so wholeheartedly—except we don’t keep them in physical chains. No, we just push them off their land, laugh at their customs, and shoot them down at the slightest provocation.” He snorted. “Righteous Unionists that we are.”

  “Unionists? It’s not about that. The tribes out there are uneducated. Pagan. Uncivilized.” />
  Jacob put the hammer down and stood up tall, looking her in the eyes. “You’ve been deceived the same as anybody else. Same as my idiot cousin who thinks he’s better than a slave because he’s white.” He pointed at her. “Admit it—pride is a hard thing to swallow. We’re not as great as we think we are.”

  Juliet felt her face turn hot.

  “You. Of all people,” she stammered through clenched teeth. “A Southerner. A Confederate.“ She spat out the word. “Trying to teach me?”

  Then she grabbed up her lantern and pushed her way through the gate, not looking back.

  Chapter 5

  Juliet. I’ve got terrible news.” Posy gulped then covered a sob.

  Juliet looked up from wiping William Henderson’s little rosebud mouth after his last dosage of castor oil, glad to hear his tiny lungs breathe freer and clearer. He rested against her shoulder, cheeks flushed and light brown hair tousled like a tiny angel. Streaks of pink bloomed along the horizon under low-hanging stars.

  “What’s wrong?” Juliet froze. “How’s Carrie Ann?”

  “I don’t know if it was cholera, too, or something else.” Posy’s voice cracked, and she wiped her eyes with her apron between gasps. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to pull myself together.”

  Juliet couldn’t speak. She stared at Posy, open-mouthed, then passed William back to Mrs. Henderson. She fled, leaving her medical bags and equipment behind—between women clattering pots and pans for an early breakfast, dogs stretching, roosters crowing—barely feeling the frost stinging her toes. Just in time to see a group huddled near her wagon, and the low, muffled sound of weeping.

  Juliet pushed her way through. “Where is she?”

  And then she saw the little bundle: skin nearly as white as the blanket, eyes stiffly closed. Motionless and still as a stone, barely parted lips that seemed to have frozen in midbreath.

  Juliet couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Her hand flew up to her mouth, barely covering the sob that choked itself out. She reached for Carrie Ann through her tears, for the silent bundle, and the woman holding it passed it to her.