The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  “Emma!” River screamed. He was over the side in a moment, sitting on his rump and sliding, sliding, bouncing over cold, slippery clay, half-falling and half-hanging on to roots to break the fall somewhat. The water! How she feared deep waters! Now her head had disappeared. It seemed to take forever to get low enough to jump into the water after her.

  Emma felt the sudden silence of the water. Below it the roaring stopped. There were only soft bubbling sounds. She fought the tearing current, struggled to get her head above water. Finally she reached the top, but just long enough to take another deep breath. She reached out for something, anything to hang on to.

  Again her head went under, and she remembered Tommy holding her upside down under the water until she could not go another moment without a breath of air. It was the same feeling all over again. She struggled to reach the surface, but she could not get there.

  Suddenly something strong grasped her about the waist. She fought at first, thinking it was Tommy trying to drown her again. But the strong hands lifted her out of the water. She gasped for breath, choking and spitting, as a strong arm came around her under the arms and pulled.

  “Hang on! I see a flat piece of bank up ahead!”

  River! It was his voice! Had the river flooded again? Would they make it off the Jasmine? Was he clinging to a rope to keep the flood waters from sweeping them away? She clung to the arm. So strong he was. She stayed still for him, felt him pulling her then, felt solid ground beneath her. They fell together onto it, panting and gasping for breath.

  “Emma! My God, Emma!” She felt a big hand push her hair back from her face, felt someone pull her close in strong arms. “My precious Emma.”

  “River,” she whispered. She leaned back, looking into his face, reaching up and touching it. “You’re all right. You’re alive! I knew…you’d…come…”

  There were tears in his eyes as he put a big hand to the side of her face and bent to kiss her forehead, then held her close again. Oh, the wonderful security of those arms! There was nothing to be afraid of now.

  She felt herself being lifted in the same strong arms. “I see a way back up,” he was saying. “We’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. It was like that first night. “River…” she said weakly. “Sam…he will come after us.”

  “Hush. Sam Gates is dead, and so is Tommy. They will never touch you or bother you again. You belong to Joe Rivers; you always have and that’s the end of it. We will not speak of them again.”

  She mumbled something about losing the baby, about Jim Jackson, about Tommy’s burning body. Always there was a gentle but firm reply for her not to think any more about those things.

  “The baby was a gift,” he told her as he laid her on a blanket. “The Maker of Breath caused it to happen so that you would not be raped. I am only sorry that I was too badly hurt to help you. For this I will never forgive myself. I would die for you.”

  She lay peacefully, everything around her seeming like a dream. Someone built a fire, then removed her wet clothes. Someone was washing her with heated water, then drying her and putting a warm, cotton gown on her.

  “I brought some of your clothes because I knew the Maker of Breath would help me find you and you might need them,” he was saying.

  Warm blankets came over her, and moments later someone was lying beside her. “I will keep you warm,” he said. “I have put warm rocks around your feet. Sleep, Emma. I pray you do not get sick from all of this like the first time.”

  “River,” she whispered. She snuggled close against the powerful chest, breathing deeply of his familiar scent. At last he had found her! Again he had saved her from the terrible waters, and finally she rested again in his arms. “The babies…”

  “The babies are fine. Mary and Grace are taking good care of them. We are free now, Emma. Soon we will be back home, and you can hold Rachael and Joshua.” He kissed her hair, wanting to weep with joy. “No one will be looking for us anymore. All who know about us are dead.” He thought of Joanna. She would not tell. He was glad the woman was free of Sam Gates.

  Emma fell into a deep sleep, brought on by terrible exhaustion combined with the exhilarating relief of knowing she was safe now.

  “My God, Emma, you gave yourself to them to save my life. I will never again let that happen. I was so afraid I had lost you forever.” She heard only part of the words.

  Emma awakened with a start; Tommy’s face was leering at her in a dream, then Sam’s. Suddenly both men burst into flames. Emma cried out, and then strong arms held her fast. Someone kissed her cheek gently.

  “It is all right. You are safe now,” said the voice.

  Morning was breaking bright and warm. She vaguely remembered falling into the river, the cold waters, the strong hands saving her. But that had been morning, too. Had she slept all the rest of that day and all the night?

  She focused her eyes on the man who held her. “River,” she whispered.

  He petted her hair. “You have slept a long, long time. It is good.”

  “River, that…horrible man…Sam…”

  He put fingers to her lips. “I told you yesterday we will speak of it no more.” She saw the intense pride and possessiveness in his eyes. “You belong to me. Nothing can ever change that.” How he loved her! He had vowed he would never tell her what Sam Gates had done to her. Gates was dead and would never come into their lives again; and River knew who owned Emma Simms’s heart, her body, and her soul.

  Their eyes held and hers filled with tears. “That…that place…that mine…they said a doctor there would make it so I…couldn’t have any more babies! I didn’t go there, did I? They didn’t do that to me!”

  “No,” he said gently. “You did not go there. You will have many more babies, Emma Rivers. And only one man will give them to you.”

  He met her lips gently, then pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her neck. She hugged him tightly, enjoying the wonderful, safe feeling of his strength, the glorious, familiar scent of him.

  “What do you think about Texas, Emma?” he asked softly in her ear. He rose slightly, kissing her forehead. “I will always love Tennessee as my home, as the place where I found you. But we have bad memories here, and if anyone should blame me for what happened to Sam Gates—”

  “River! What did you do to him? Are there men after you?”

  “I do not think so. I killed him, Emma. A snake bit him, but I was the one who put it there.”

  She gasped. “He’s dead! He’s dead! And Tommy too…the tent caught fire…”

  “I know. I found his body.” He would not tell her Tommy was still alive when he found him. It would bother her to know that he lay suffering for that long, for her heart was too soft, and perhaps she felt responsible. “Remember,” he said gently, “we will not talk about any of these things anymore after today.”

  She ran her hands along his muscled arms. “I’ll go to Texas if you think that’s best, River. I would go anyplace with you. You know that.”

  He smiled softly, his eyes showing tears. “I am so glad I found you. The Maker of Breath is with us, Emma. I feel it. I will take you home and you will be with Josh and Rachael again. They will be so happy to see their mama. And then we will leave for Texas. Maybe Mary and Grace and the others will come with us.” A tear slipped down his cheek and she brushed at it.

  “Make love to me, River,” she whispered.

  “You are too weak.”

  “No. I need you to make love to me.”

  He smiled through tears, coming down to meet her mouth again, gently moving his lips to her neck, her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes and saw a bird flutter by. The forest was her friend again. There was nothing to fear. She was with River Joe.

  …His lips warmed my own,

  And together we lay

  In the soft mountain grasses,

  Where he made me his bride.

  And our love, through all hardships, />
  To the end shall abide…

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1988 by F. Rosanne Bittner

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition May 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-283-3

  The characters and events in this novel are purely fictitious and the product of this author’s imagination. However, said characters and events are based on the actual historical situation that existed in the Republic of Texas during the time in which this story takes place—1845—just before Texas statehood.

  This book is dedicated to the brave souls who settled the Republic of Texas; and to the equally brave souls who were forced to give up that same land to make way for the white man. In many ways both red man and white were right in their beliefs and actions; and in just as many ways, both were wrong. In retrospect, who can say who is to blame? All that is left is to forgive, to accept what is and look to the future…and to replace bitterness and hatred with acceptance and love.

  Set not thy foot on graves;

  Hear what wine and roses say;

  The mountain chase, the summer waves,

  The crowded town, thy feet may well delay.

  Set not thy foot on graves;

  Nor seek to unwind the shroud

  Which charitable Time

  And Nature have allowed

  To wrap the errors of a sage sublime…

  Life is too short to waste

  In critic peep or cynic bark,

  Quarrel or reprimand:

  ’Twill soon be dark;

  Up! mind thine own aim, and

  God speed the mark!

  —from the poem “TO J. W.” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Chapter One

  A hot Texas wind blew the hemline of Rachael Rivers’s dress, dusting the bottom of the deep blue skirt and spoiling the polish of her high-button shoes. It was a warm spring day, 1845, and Rachael was hot in her long-sleeve dress, but it was her best dress, and she had wanted to look nice for her homecoming. The dress fit her tiny waist perfectly, billowing below the waist with several slips beneath it; the perfectly placed darts of the bodice accenting her full, round bosom. Her blond hair was swept up under a small hat, part of its long tresses hanging in curls down the back of her neck.

  Rachael ignored the heat. Her blue eyes saw only the inscription on the new gravestone beside her mother’s.

  HERE LIES JOSEPH RIVERS, KNOWN TO SOME AS RIVER JOE. BIRTHDATE UNKNOWN. DIED FEBRUARY 12, 1845. A GOOD HUSBAND AND FATHER.

  Sand, carried on the wind, stung Rachael’s pretty face. Texas was hard on fair skin, hard on everything. Rachael’s mother, Emma, had been dead since 1840. She was only 30 years old when she died in childbirth, taking the baby with her. But she had left behind three sons and a daughter.

  “At least they’re together now,” said twenty-year-old Joshua Rivers as he moved closer beside his grieving sister. “Ma and Pa didn’t have a lot of years together, but they sure did love each other,” he added.

  Thirteen-year-old Luke stood across from his sister and older brother, sniffing and wiping at new tears that spilled out of big, blue eyes. He ran a hand through his dark hair. It didn’t seem possible his father had already been dead for two months. Now, seeing Rachael grieving over their father, his own painful loss was reawakened.

  Fifteen-year-old Matthew leaned against the big cotton-wood tree that shaded the graves. His thick, blond hair blew every which way, and his blue eyes were watery with tears that the boy was too stubborn to let fall. Luke and Matthew were both built big for their ages, good-looking young men who had learned about hard work early in life.

  “If only I had come back sooner,” Rachael spoke softly, hardly able to get the words past the painful lump in her throat. “I just never imagined a man like Father dying, Josh. He was so big and strong and able.”

  “I know,” Joshua answered. “It got extra cold last January and the pond froze over. Pa went out to chop a hole in it for the horses and more ice broke. He fell right in. A couple days later he came down with a fever and he just never got better—got hit with a terrible cough to where he just couldn’t breathe anymore. Maybe if Ma was still alive he’d have tried harder. But I think he just got so sick he started thinking about maybe giving up and going to be with Ma. He was never a happy man after she died anyway.”

  Rachael turned, half collapsing against her brother’s chest. He hugged his weeping sister supportively. Joshua was tall and broad like his father, a handsome young man, with Joe Rivers’s dark eyes and winning smile. His hair was a soft, sandy color, a grand mixture of his dark father and his blond mother.

  “Go on about your chores,” he told Luke and Matthew gently. “I know you want to visit with Rachael, but this is pretty bad news for her right now. Supper will be a better time to get your visiting done.”

  Luke fidgeted with a floppy leather hat that hung limply from his calloused hands. He came around to the sister it seemed he hardly knew anymore. “I’m glad you’re home, Rachael,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sorry about Pa.”

  Rachael turned to him, giving him a quick, tearful hug. She glanced at Matthew, who still stood leaning against the tree.

  “We’ll get reacquainted at supper, like Josh said,” she told Matthew, finally finding her voice. “I’m proud of you and Luke both, for staying on here with Josh and taking care of the ranch. I know it’s hard work.”

  Matthew nodded, quickly turning away to hide a tear that finally slipped out. He hurried off to do his chores, barking at Luke to come and help.

  All four Rivers children were named after biblical characters. “It’s fitting,” their mother had often said. “I learned to read with a Bible, back in Tennessee when your pa and I lived among the Cherokee. The Cherokee raised your pa, even though he was white. They were family to him, so they became family to me, too.”

  Rachael could easily remember Emma Rivers telling them stories about how she grew up, how she met Joe Rivers, things that happened back in Tennessee; how the Cherokee got sent away by the government; how she and Joe came to live in Texas to start a new life. That had taken great strength and courage, and the sons and daughter of Joe and Emma Rivers were nurtured to carry those same qualities, necessary characteristics for survival in a harsh land.

  “Oh, Josh, I wish I could have been here,” Rachael said. She took a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and blew her nose.

  “Pa would understand,” Joshua answered. “Besides, you were doing what Ma wanted. She wanted you to go to that school back East. Now look at you, a fine lady, anybody can see. I expect my sister is the prettiest girl in all of Texas.”

  Rachael smiled through her tears. “That’s what Father used to say to Mother,” she said, her voice shaky. “Remember how he used to make her blush?”

  Joshua grinned. “I sure do. Now you’re doing it.”

  She shook her head, laughing and crying at the same time. “Josh Rivers. Don’t you start.”

  Joshua folded his arms. “Well, the only thing I regret is that Pa can’t see you now. You look more like Ma than ever. And Ma would be so proud to know you’ll be teaching in Austin. You did right by her memory, Rachael, coming back here to teach.”

  Rachael wiped at her eyes, taking a good look at her brother. She had arrived at the Double “R” no more than a half hour earlier, paying the stage driver a little extra to bring her directly to the ranch after his s
top in Austin. She had discovered the shocking news of her father’s death upon her arrival. There had barely been time to visit with her brothers, or even to take a true inventory of how they had changed.

  “And look at you,” she said then. “Josh, you’re a grown man.”

  “Three years can make a big difference. You’ve changed a lot, too, you know. You left here a shy, sixteen-year-old girl. Now you’re a woman.”

  Rachael sniffed, studying her brother lovingly. “Now what, Josh? You moving into town?”

  “Heck no. Pa loved this ranch. We’re staying right here on the Double ‘R.’ We helped Pa enough over the years to know what to do.”

  “But the ranch has never brought in much money, Josh. The weather is so unpredictable. A crop can be wiped out overnight, cattle can starve, let alone the problems with Indians stealing the strays. That’s what I worry about most—the Comanche renegades.”

  Joshua shrugged. “Pa was a hell of a fighter, and so are me and Matt and Luke. We all can handle our repeaters just fine. We’ll handle those skulking savages.”

  “Josh! You know Father never would speak of them that way. You know how he felt about Indians.”

  “Comanche aren’t like other Indians. Pa liked to think they were—said they were just afraid of losing all their land and all. But I rode on a patrol once last year with Jason Brown. He’s a Texas Ranger now. Did you know that?”

  Rachael stiffened. “No,” she answered, wiping at her eyes again.

  “We rode out to check on other settlers,” Joshua continued, “and I saw what the Comanche did to a nice family north of here. I tried to tell Pa about it, but he just said I have a lot to understand about Indians and why they do some of the things they do. Then he went into that story again about what happened to the Cherokee. ‘It didn’t do them any good to try to keep their land the legal way, the peaceful way,’ he’d say. ‘Other Indians know that, so they’re going to fight their own way to keep what’s theirs.’ But I’ll tell you, if you saw what I saw, you wouldn’t have any sympathy for the Comanche.”