Gwyneth

by Christine Sterling

  Gwyneth

  The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book #4

  Christine Sterling

  Gwyneth

  Copyright © 2018 by Christine Sterling

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Christine Sterling

  ChristineSterling.com

  Cover © Charlene Raddon, silversagebookcovers.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Editing by Carolyn Leggo

  Typesetting by © Cordially Chris Author Services

  Acknowledgments

  All glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is the ultimate storyteller, I hold the pen. I am so glad you call me daughter.

  To my husband, Daniel, you are my mountain man. Thank you for loving me.

  To my beautiful daughters, Rebecca & Elizabeth. You inspire me in every single way. I’m so thankful you are my daughters. I love you to the moon and back.

  To my parents. Without your support all these years, these stories wouldn’t have happened.

  To Carolyn, who always comes through for me. I know editing is a time-consuming job, but you make me a better writer and I’m so thankful for you! #editorsrock

  To the authors who I worked with on this series. I’m so grateful you included me. You are an amazing group of women and wonderful storytellers.

  Dedication

  For Nora. I love you more.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Visit Christine on Social Media

  Join the Reader Team

  Upcoming Releases

  Chapter One

  April 7, 1884, Wildcat Ridge, Utah

  “Your husband is dead.”

  Gwyneth Davies was in the process of breaking the earth for her summer garden when the Indian rode up. She thought she had better get the garden ready or Clint would think she was lazy and didn’t get anything done while he was gone. He would drive that message home with a belt, or worse, his fists.

  Gwyneth looked at the Indian man who spoke those words that gave her half-agony, half-hope. He was sitting tall on his horse with his long black hair tied back behind his head. Intricate tattoos lined his body, like inky vines stretching through every exposed inch of skin.

  He stared at her with deep gray eyes, his jaw set firm. He had a serious expression as he waited for her to respond. She looked long and hard at him, trying to decide if he was going to cause trouble.

  She recognized one tattoo on his arm from a local tribe that her husband would trade with; she couldn’t remember the name, but she could never forget that symbol. It was of a large bird with large wings, with intricate designs weaving around it. When they would come to their house, Clint made her stay inside.

  As she looked at him more, she realized he didn’t look as menacing as Clint had led her to believe.

  Just because her husband knew them, it didn’t mean she should lower her guard. She held tighter to the rifle under her arm.

  “Where is he?”

  The Indian rolled a limp body wrapped in fur off his horse to her feet. A hand extended past the fur. She recognized it as Clint’s. It was the same shirt he was wearing when he disappeared over a week ago.

  She remembered that day. She was cleaning the kitchen, trying to avoid Clint as best as she could. He was home, cleaning his guns in the living room in such a menacing way, it chilled her bones. He took great delight in terrorizing her in such little ways. As she was dusting off the furniture with her cloth, she felt the house shake. At first, it was just a dull rumble. And then a few moments later, the house shook so hard, she felt herself topple onto the floor.

  Clint got up from his seat, paying her no mind as she laid sprawled on the floor. “What was that?” he asked to no one in particular. As she pulled herself up from the floor, he started to pace, looking out the window. She hung back, clutching her stomach, trying to protect the babe that grew in her belly.

  The fall wasn’t too far, so she didn’t feel any pain. She did a small once over of her body, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but trying to not bring attention to herself.

  She looked out the window. There was a large puff of black smoke coming from the area where the mine was located.

  “The mine has exploded!” he shouted, turning back to her. “Do you know what this means?”

  As he waited for her answer, she slowly shook her head. She tried to always keep her answers short to him, as she didn’t want to unknowingly upset him.

  He came over to her and shook her arms so hard that her hair fell out of the bun and his fingers bit into her skin. She knew that he had left bruises.

  “Are you stupid?” he yelled at her face, as she turned away, fearing his hand across it. She closed her eyes, hoping that the pain would be quick. He gave a frustrated grunt and let go of her. She fell back, landing in another chair in the living room. “The explosion was too close to the still.”

  She didn’t know where the still was, but she figured it must be in one of the hunting cabins on the property if he said it was close to the still.

  Clint quickly put on his boots and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to go check on it,” he said, before turning around. He pointed at her forcefully. “Gwyneth, you are to stay here. Don’t leave this house,” he said as he grabbed his gun, “or there will be consequences.”

  She knew that the consequences would be great as he walked out the front door. And even though her body screamed that this would be the perfect opportunity to leave, she knew better. It wouldn’t be long until he found her; he was a tracker after all.

  As such, she waited for him to come home, trying to keep her mind off how upset he was going to be. But then something strange happened.

  A night passed, and her husband was nowhere to be found. Then another night passed. Clint still hadn’t come home at all. She was partly worried about him; mostly because she still feared his wrath. She kept to the house though, as she didn’t know where he was, nor did she want to get caught away if he did come home.

  Soon a few nights turned into a week and her husband still hadn’t come home yet. She figured he was passed out drunk wherever his still was and would be home soon, when the Indian rode into her yard.

  “You are Clint Davies’s wife, no?”

  Gwyneth nodded. She had been dreaming of this day for so long, but to have it actually happen was more than she could bear. No more drunken fits; no more beatings; no more wondering if each day would be her last.

  She looked at the sky, throwing her arms in the air and shouted to the sky, “Thank you, God!”

  The Indian flexed his square jaw. Laughter and praise were probably not the emotions he was expecting.

  “You are a crazy white woman.”

  Gwyneth stopped and looked at him. “You are probably correct. Can you tell me how it happened?”

  “We were hunting, and the Great Spirit shook the earth. We saw smoke come from the belly of the earth into the air.”

  Gwyneth nodded. What he described was the explosion and fire
that happened at the mine. “We took cover and saw Fighting Bear running up the hill towards one of the cabins on the ridge.”

  “Fighting Bear?”

  “That is what we call your husband when we first see him. He was wearing a bear skin and carrying his firestick.” Gwyneth nodded. She didn’t know her husband had an Indian name. She added that to the pile of things she learned about him over the course of three years.

  “When the Great Spirit shook the earth again, he fell, hitting his head on a rock. He was asleep, we could not wake him up. He was still breathing, so we took him to the village and our Medicine Man tried to wake him up. He went into a deeper sleep and stopped breathing.”

  The story left Gwyneth speechless. How long had she wished for this exact thing to happen to her husband? And yet, now that he was gone, she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  “Thank you for bringing him back. May I get your name?”

  “Call me Jolon. It means Valley of the Dead Oaks. It is where I was born.”

  “Thank you, Jolon.” She looked around for the shovel and found it against the side of the porch. “I guess I better get busy burying him. I don’t want to run the risk of a wild cat, or a bear coming through here.”

  “Will you need help, Mitena?”

  “I would like to bury him up on the hill. It would be closest to where he was doing what he loved.”

  The Indian nodded and dismounted his horse. He gave a bark, causing Gwyneth to jump, and a second man appeared from behind some bushes.

  “That is Maska. He will help too.”

  “I am sorry for your loss. We enjoyed trading with your husband. He was fair to us,” he said solemnly. Gwyneth looked up, meeting his eyes. “There are many people around here that want to take advantage of our tribe, and he always gave us the fairest deal.”

  Gwyneth knew exactly who Maska was talking about. Mortimer Crane was not happy having Indian tribes in the area. He did his best to discourage business with the tribes, as he wanted the money to come to town, instead of lining trapper’s pockets.

  Mortimer owned the mine that exploded, killing everyone inside. Many others were hurt when they went to help, and a second explosion occurred.

  She had never met him, but she knew of him through the bits and pieces she got from her husband’s bursts of anger. They were always fighting because Clint made a form of corn liquor that was very popular with the miners as well as the Indians. He was encroaching on Mortimer’s territory, and no one went behind Mortimer’s back. Or at least lived to tell about it.

  “I’m happy you saw my husband in such esteem,” she said politely. Though the bruises and scars on her body were still fresh, she knew better than to talk badly about her husband. It wouldn’t do any good and she didn't want to taint their vision of this man, even though she was glad he was dead. She knew she could never admit that to anyone, and certainly not to these people that she had barely met.

  Maska took the shovel from her and started walking to the clump of trees about 500 yards from the house.

  “Let me grab the wagon, it will be easier to get him there.”

  Gwyneth ran to the barn and hitched, Betsy, their one horse to the flat wagon. It would do for now. She drove it back to where Jolon had dumped the body. Together they placed Clint in the back of the wagon and Gwyneth guided the horse over to where Maska had started digging.

  As she watched him toss the dirt to the side she asked Jolon, “What does it mean?”

  “What does what mean?”

  “You called me Mit..I don’t remember the entire word.”

  “Mitena. It means Born under a New Moon.”

  “Mitena.” She let the word roll around on her tongue. “Why that?”

  “It is a new moon tomorrow. This is the time of your rebirth. Be strong, Mitena. Ape mavija,”

  “What does ape mavija mean?”

  “It means Father will take care of you. Father being the Great Spirit in the sky.”

  “Like God?”

  “That is what white people call the Great Spirit.”

  Gwyneth didn’t say anything. She absent-mindedly rubbed her belly. Her lower back was hurting. Jolon watched her.

  “Your baby will be born when the summer sun is high in the sky.”

  “That is correct.” She was expecting in August.

  “I will have Kimama come visit you to make sure everything is alright. She has birthed many babies in the village.”

  Gwyneth knew better than to refuse his offer. It would be an insult and she knew it was better to have them as friends instead of enemies. “Thank you.”

  Once the hole was deep enough, and they placed Clint in his final resting place, Gwyneth turned to Jolon and Maska. “Thank you for bringing his body home. I’ll bury him now. You may leave to go back to your village.”

  Jolon nodded. This was something she had to do herself. She watched the braves ride off and Jolon lifted his hand to say goodbye. Gwyneth returned the gesture and then grabbed the shovel, placing the first pile of dirt on top of Clint’s body.

  With every shovelful that she put on his body, she felt calmer. It was like a weight was leaving her shoulders. It didn’t take long to finish covering him. She leaned on the shovel and looked at the fresh dirt.

  “Araf deg mae mynd ymhell,” she whispered. “Go slowly and go far.”

  She placed the items in the back of the wagon and led Betsy back to the barn. She was probably the only widow in Wildcat Ridge that wasn’t sad for the loss of her husband.

  What kind of woman that must make her.

  Gwyneth wasn’t sure, but she knew that she finally was a free one.

  For the next couple of days, Gwyneth went through the motions. She cleaned the house until there wasn’t a spot that hadn’t been touched. She ate the last of the meat in the larder from Clint’s last hunt. She planted a garden in the front of her house and sewed the clothes that needed mending, even Clint’s shirts that she knew he would never wear again.

  She felt like doing all these things gave her a sense of purpose.

  True to his word, Jolon sent Kimama, a beautiful woman who came to check in on her. She was tall, with beautiful green eyes and tan skin. She had the same type of ink curling around her arms and belly, only hers were of flowers, though she also had the same bird on her arm. She spoke with the same accent as Jolon, although hers wasn’t as thick.

  Gwyneth realized how much she missed the companionship of another person. It had been so long since she had talked to another person that wasn’t her husband. It had been years since she had seen anyone from town, as her husband had made a point to scare her enough that she never wanted to leave.

  Kimama was kind to her, they had tea together and ate the last of the cornbread that Gwyneth had made that morning. She even brought out the jar of honey, thinking how Clint would beat her for offering the sweet nectar to a stranger. Then she remembered that he would never beat her again and the honey tasted that much more delicious.

  “You should rest now. It will be better for the baby.” Kimama placed her hands-on Gwyneth’s belly “You will have a daughter. She will bring you much joy. I will make you supper.”

  “I don’t have much in the house.” Suddenly Gwyneth was embarrassed about her lack of provisions. She would have to make a trip to the town and the thought terrified her.

  Kimama took Gwyneth’s hand in her own and spoke to her in a calming manner. “Do not worry. I brought a few supplies with me and I’ll catch fish for dinner. I noticed the stream running along the far side of your land.” Gwyneth told her about the traps.

  Gwyneth went down to rest and for the first time in weeks she went into a deep sleep. When she woke the sun was starting to go down. She ate the fish that Kimama caught along with fresh bread and more of the honey. She and Kimama did the dishes together – Kimama washed as she dried and put them away.

  When the day had turned to night, Kimama pulled the tub down from the wall and filled it with warm water and chamomile f
lowers. The scent was lovely. Gwyneth never had anyone draw a bath for her before. She took her time soaking until the water turned cold. It blistered on her skin and she shivered, quickly washing herself and rinsing. Kimama was there with a towel when she was ready to get out of the tub.

  She could see that Kimama had made a bed in front of the fireplace. “I’ll leave in the morning. It is too dark to ride to my village alone. Let me tuck you in and we can go to sleep.”

  She tucked Gwyneth into her bed, tucking the sheet around her shoulders and under her sides. Gwyneth wondered if this is what a papoose must feel like. Gwyneth had never felt more loved than she did in that moment.

  She should have known that such a feeling wouldn’t last. A few days later, Gwyneth received a knock at her door. She ran over to the door, thinking it might be Kimama, or someone else from the tribe. When she opened it, standing there was a short, squat man in a bowler hat. He had used his cane to knock on the door. Gwyneth took in his outfit and tried not to laugh. She peered over his shoulder to see two men waiting on horses in the yard.

  He was wearing an impeccably tailored suit with a velvet waist coat. . His round belly filled out over his short pants, and his jacket barely fit around his middle. He took his hat off and held it in his hand, showing brown hair that matched his mustache.

  She would have thought he looked rather comical, if it wasn’t for the sharp eyes and cruel smile on his lips. It sent a shiver down her spin.

  “Mrs. Davies? Or should I say, widow Davies?” he asked, a distinct sneer in his voice. “May I come in?” he asked, as he walked into her home without an invitation.

  Gwyneth turned around, watching him as he walked around her living room. He looked at the animal skins on the ground and the table with fresh baked bread Kimama had left for her the night before.

  “This is a nice house Clint built for the two of you. Seems quite cozy for you to raise your little one in,” he said, looking towards her belly. She hugged herself instinctively. “Though, it seems so lonely to be out here, all the way in the mountains, with no protection. No one to help at a moment’s notice,” he said, the statement laced with an unknown threat.