Angela's Hope (Wildflowers)

by Banicki, Leah

  Angela’s Hope

  By Leah Banicki

  Angela’s Hope

  by Leah Banicki

  Copyright © 2013 Leah Banicki

  Book 2 of Wildflower Series

  https://www.facebook.com/Leah.Banicki.Novelist

  All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work.

  Acknowledgements –

  To the many people who helped and supported me through this long road of healing and writing.

  Pat , Leslie & Patty

  LLPP – we make a great support team. I pray that God will bless our efforts for years to come.

  To my family for their patience and care while I wrote and healed, I pray that you will be rewarded for all that you have done for me.

  Most of all I thank God who has loved me despite my weakness and flaws. His loving hand has held me through so many dark nights. His love endures forever.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 Chapter 2

  Chapter 3 Chapter 4

  Chapter 5 Chapter 6

  Chapter 7 Chapter 8

  Chapter 9 Chapter 10

  Chapter 11 Chapter 12

  Chapter 13 Chapter 14

  Chapter 15 Chapter 16

  Chapter 17 Chapter 18

  Chapter 19 Chapter 20

  Chapter 21 Chapter 22

  Chapter 23 Chapter 24

  Chapter 25 Chapter 26

  Chapter 27 Chapter 28

  Chapter 29 Chapter 30

  Chapter 31 Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part 1

  Prologue - Angela Fahey

  May 2nd 1848- Oregon Trail

  Angela could taste blood in her mouth. She had just fallen into a ravine and she was badly injured, she knew that. The night was pitch black and moonless. There was a sore spot on her tongue but that was the least of her worries. She was sure she had sprained or broken her arm before she had fallen. Now it was tangled in a heap with the rest of her.

  There was something scratching her face whenever she tried to move her head. The deep throbbing in her leg was the most concerning to her. She had called out for help a minute ago.

  Had it been a minute? She wondered.

  Would anyone come searching for her? She was only a maid after all. If her employer, Andrew Temple, had any say she would be out here all night. The fear of it all crept from her belly and traveled through her; a ferocious fear that crept like a demon up her spine. Would she survive the night?

  Pain pushed all thoughts from her head for a few minutes as she prayed while the pain was soaring through her body. Some thin object had pierced her shoulder in the fall.

  A stick? She wondered.

  “Lord, please help me…” Angela whispered into the dark night. She felt a moment of peace wash over her. Somehow she knew God was with her. It was confusing and overwhelming, feeling peace and pain battling within her for purchase. She wanted the peace to win.

  She gathered her strength every few minutes and yelled out for help. Angela felt foolish. She knew the wagon train was far off. She would have no clue if anyone would be out in the black night who could hear her. She prayed that her voice would carry.

  She had tried to sit up and pain shot through her legs and arms and she screamed out involuntarily. She cried for several minutes as the pain overwhelmed her. She did not yell out for a while, but instead just prayed and held herself together. She took deep breaths and listened to the night sounds around her as she waited.

  She heard the faintest human sound above the rasp of her labored breathing, her chest and ribs were bruised and she kept having moments of panic. She was certain though… she heard something.

  “Hello,” A voice called out. It was far away but if she could hear them, then perhaps they could hear her. She would try and yell again through her hoarse throat.

  “Please help me!” Angela yelled out three times than stopped to breathe. It was getting harder and harder to project her voice. In her fall her body had taken a beating. She hadn’t eaten since the morning of the day before. It was probably after midnight by now, a new day.

  “Keep yelling!” The voice was closer.

  Some momentary hope urged Angela to yell again and again. Her voice caught several times in a near sob.

  “She’s here.” A familiar voice said. It was either Lucas or Russell.

  She thanked God over and over in her mind but had no more energy to speak aloud.

  There were three gunshots fired into the air. She could see a few lanterns above her and a few minutes passed as more people gathered near.

  “We are coming to get you, Red.” Clive’s voice said, soothingly. His was the voice that sent her over the edge, emotionally. She began to sob in pain, relief and a few unknown feelings. He was the closest thing to a father she had left. He was a beautiful old soul that had become her protector. They all had come to save her. Her weary joy overflowed, as did her tears.

  The men climbing down the ravine loosened some debris, some clods of dirt and a few broken branches fell on her or near her, as the men tried to get to her safely. The falling stuff mattered little to her but men were yelling and scrambling to keep her safe, all trying their hardest to do no more harm.

  Her sobs had quieted. She felt faint and weak as she waited. She listened to the men around her and realized how surreal it all was. They were coming for her – A nobody, a servant. Her own stepfather had basically thrown her away like trash. Then, just today, her employer had done the same. Why were these men risking their lives for her?

  Clive and a man she didn’t know were near her. They both had lanterns and she enjoyed the warmth of the light after her terror in the pitch-blackness for hours. They seemed to be examining the situation. Clive was talking but it sounded far away to her. Like he was talking under water.

  Clive grabbed at the bush that was next to her and hacked away at it then tried to remove some of the brambles from her hair. The other guy removed a large rock from her right ankle. Angela screamed once the pressure was removed and the men decided it was time to just pick her up and get it over with. Angela tried to be brave but the pain of movement was too much. Clive spoke words to calm her and she leaned against him.

  Only a few hours ago she had accepted that she would probably die soon. God had other plans.

  * * * * *

  Andrew Temple

  May 4th 1848 - Fort Kearney

  Andrew Temple was a desperate young man, his guts eating away with what he had to finally admit to himself as guilt. He had suffered two days at the hand of his own crew, men he paid, all giving him glares and disrespect. It had finally broken through his hard-hearted wall. A young girl was nearly killed and it was his fault. He kept replaying the day of the accident over and over.

  All the scouts he had been riding with had been complaining. The whole wagon train had been very annoyed by the lack of available firewood. He had a certain amount of pride that their stores of dry firewood and kindling were more than enough to last through a barren section. He had servants out gathering daily. He took a certain pride in his outfit. Three wagons and a cookie was one of the best set-ups in the whole train of more than a hundred wagons. At twenty-five he felt like the best man, and he liked that feeling.

  When his one servant girl, a red-headed skinny thing, had come back from a gathering run of several hours wi
th such a small offering he knew that was to be expected. He knew everyone was struggling to find firewood. He didn’t know why he had yelled at her, he wished over and over to relive that ten minutes. He sent the girl out into the night for no good reason. Andrew pushed off the pleading of his other servant, Reggie, and his whimpering wife, telling him that the dark night wasn’t safe. He allowed a lantern to be sent to the girl, but he knew the oil hadn’t been filled. Every detail was replaying in his mind. He didn’t want to ask himself why he had done it.

  His wife, Corinne, had begged him with tears in her eyes. She rarely asked anything of him anymore. She had been avoiding him for weeks. He was happier for it. He only married her to appease a sense of duty to her father. He was not in the market for a child bride and he let her know it often. The only thing that said they were married was the paper in his wagon. Corinne was an inconvenience and part of him was pleased every time he could make her unhappy. Overworking her servant, Angela, was always a thorn between them but finally the threats had worked and Corinne and Angela’s friendship was under control. Seeing Corinne’s tears the night of the accident at first had made him smug. Now they just reminded him of all his mistakes.

  The girl had been gone for hours. Reggie and Corinne had stayed up and paced around while waiting for her to return. He thought they were being dramatic and had gone to bed. He awoke to the sounds of yelling and horses. He dressed quickly and joined the other men on horseback.

  The news of a girl calling for help out in the darkness made his blood run cold. For a moment he felt the first inkling of what he had done. He pushed it away quickly and put his wall of pride back up.

  The men were going to form a search party and started to ask him some rather pointed questions about why his servant was out in the dark, moonless night. This area was dangerous and there had been many warnings about staying close to the fires because of wild animals.

  In his own pride and sense of protecting his reputation he had bold-faced lied. He called the girl silly or something like it. The next few seconds were a blur. He saw his crew, the Blake brothers and Reggie and even the gruff cookie, they all looked at him with shock. It was their disappointed looks that had distracted him enough that he never saw his childish wife flying at him in a rage. She screamed at him like a wild creature.

  He held her off for a minute but she got one solid slap across his cheek. He couldn’t believe his first response had been to hit her back. He pulled a fist back to shut her up.

  Her screaming about him being a hateful liar was embarrassing and his face stung from the ferocity of her hand clapping against his unsuspecting skin. Clive Quackenbush, a man he respected highly, was behind him and grabbed his fist before he had struck his wife in front of so many people. Once the rage left him he realized the magnitude of this moment. Not sure he had ever felt lower, his mind flew back a few years and remembered the same kind of feeling once before. Shame started again coursing through his veins like a poison.

  His weeping wife was pulled away and comforted, then he joined the other men on horseback to search through the night. It was hours before the girl was found. The state of her brokenness only added to his pile of self-loathing. He was done with any smugness or pride. He knew he was a wretch. A horrible wretch!

  The girl was found at the bottom of a rocky ravine, tangled in brambles, with broken bones; bleeding and scabbed from head to toe. The men had yelled for everyone with a lantern to gather so they could get to her safely. It had taken some doing to get her unraveled from the mess of thorns and bushes that had caught her from her tumble.

  Andrew felt physically ill when he saw her. A mix of all the shame, guilt and abhorrence for what he had done came at him like a crashing wave. He willed himself to not vomit.

  He could see there was actually a stick coming out of her shoulder! It had penetrated her skin and was sticking out like she had been on the losing end of a knife fight. He didn’t want to look anymore and forced himself to walk away from the scene. His respected friends, Lucas and Clive, took charge of getting the girl wrapped into a warm blanket. She moaned several times while the men lifted her broken body up to Lucas on his horse.

  There was nothing for them to do but everyone agreed they needed to get her back to Corinne. His wife had a gift for healing, some knowledge of medicine and would care for the girl. But Andrew had little hope. He knew with her injuries that infection would probably finish her off within a few days. He was a graduate of veterinarian medicine, after all. He knew that if she had been an animal and this badly injured… Andrew pushed away the rest of the thought.

  His head was full as the next days passed. He heard the girl’s cries from across the camp as the wagon rolled with her in it. The word infection was on everyone’s lips. Corinne was doing her best and had to do several torturous procedures to remove more debris from the girl’s wounds. His stomach flopped with every new realization of what he had done.

  He had several voices in his head competing for attention. The voice of shame and self-loathing was the loudest. Telling him every day he had been prideful and evil to this servant girl and also his wife. The other voices were his parents. It had been over three years since he had said goodbye to them.

  He was still feeling the anger bubbling up from inside about how they just left him behind.

  Ok, I was a young man and studying at the University. I had barely gone home to Kentucky at all during my school breaks. Andrew chastised himself. Knowing his anger had been misplaced at his parents.

  There had just been so many issues at home. He battled his own mind most days. His Christian upbringing had taught him against the things he was doing.

  His mother had always warned him that he was like his grandfather, always angry about everything. She worked and prayed with him growing up telling him to go to God when his angry tendencies took over. He had accepted the Lord when he was young. He knew he was a sinner and many times he went to God for help when his temper would rise to the surface. He couldn’t explain sometimes how much he wanted to just yell or lash out for no reason. He would pick fights at school. Then, when he went home his parents would punish and then pray with him.

  He had gotten the strap a few times in his life but his father had never been harsh with him. The few times he had deserved it and he knew it. His mother had told him so many stories about her father, how his anger had been constantly bubbling under the surface. He had hit her and her mother sometimes, but the worst was the yelling and the insults, all the time. His mother was sweet and gentle and she would say over and over how she married a man as different from her father as she could find. It was a constant conversation between his parents and him. ‘Go to God to control your anger.’

  By fifteen years old Andrew Temple had a better temperament. He was a close friend then with the preacher’s son and he had been a great example. It was only when he applied for college at Harvard that the anger started creeping back in. He did not get accepted and he was devastated. Everyone was talking about him and he was humiliated. A friend of his parents, John Harpole, had written a letter to the board of Harvard and magically the acceptance was received, but now his heart was hard again. He prayed about it often but nothing calmed his anger. He shut his parents out and sulked until it was time to leave for school. School was not hard for him and, because of that, he had plenty of free time, he made some new friends.

  His mother was constantly writing letters, reminding him to attend a church and keep his heart humble to God. He responded like he knew she wanted him too. Saying all the right words but his church attendance was dodgy. Instead, he spent weekends with his friends. That was how his anger issues reached the boiling point. It still blurred in his mind. It was the girl’s fault. He would tell himself but he knew. His conscience knew.

  While in his second year of college he had spent a weekend at a friend house, a very wealthy family who threw magnificent parties. He enjoyed the flowing champagne and the attention from all the pretty girls. They l
iked his southern accent and they constantly told him he was charming. He had been accepted into this world of the wealthy and influential of the community. He was a Harvard student and his father, a wealthy ranch owner. He lost sight of his own morality when, in a moment of too much champagne and young stupidity, he took advantage of a maid in his friend’s home after a party.

  He barely even remembered it and a few months went by before the consequences snuck up on him. The maid was claiming to be pregnant and had told them that he was the culprit. The family was furious and was threatening to go to the Harvard board and turn him in. Andrew was in trouble and had no idea how to get out. His friends were talking behind his back and rumors were spreading. He was confronted with his sins and afraid for his standing as a student at Harvard.

  How dare the girl turn him in! She had been a flirt every time he stayed there. How dare she, a mere servant, try to ruin his reputation? He wanted to lie and claim he had nothing to do with it but he knew he couldn’t do that. There was a part of him that was ready to face the consequences. He had written the letter to his parents confessing several times and then burned each attempt. Somehow he had to get out of this, and then suddenly it was over. He received a letter from his friend’s home. The maid had lost the child and they would not be addressing the issue again. But he was no longer welcome in their home and they proceeded to lecture him on his morality. He read the letter over and over, feeling relief over the release from the troubled situation but then anger at being lectured. After all, it was only a servant girl. If he had made that mistake with one of the young ladies at the party he would probably been forced to marry her. His friend had been his roommate at the university and had promptly moved out. He spent the rest of the year alone and it wasn’t good for him. His friends avoided him and his grades dropped a little. Not enough to be kicked out but his pride manifested once more.