by Vivi Holt
He spied a cabin up ahead, squatting on the creek bank and looking as though it had suffered through several floods. Whoever built it hadn’t thought through how high the creek’s water levels might rise after the spring thaw or during summer rains. He frowned and walked toward it. There’d be no flood tonight, and if it wasn’t too badly damaged it might be a good place for him to sleep.
The cabin had a chimney that looked to be in working order, at least from the outside. But the front door was rotten and sagged on leather hinges. He pulled on the handle and it scraped across the worn porch. He peered inside. “Hello?”
There was no response. Inside, the cabin smelled damp and musty. Cobwebs wove from walls to ceiling, and something small scurried across the floor and into the next room. He stepped inside. “Anyone here?” Nope, still silent.
Ost took a closer look at the hearth. It was clear a fire hadn’t been lit there in a long time, but he couldn’t see any reason he shouldn’t. The rest of the room was covered in dust and some mold, but otherwise looked habitable. It was cozy enough and would provide him some shelter. He picketed Auger in a field behind the cabin after the horse had drunk his fill, then carried his belongings into the cabin, set them on the floor in the main room, and returned outside to hunt for kindling.
Before long he had everything he needed. Some of the firewood was damp, but not so much that it wouldn’t burn. It’d send up some smoke, though, and he wasn’t too happy about that, given the purpose of his trip. Still, he didn’t believe the rustlers were close by. He’d been searching for a sign all day, anything to tell him they’d been by that way recently, and hadn’t found one.
The fire started slowly in the hearth, then took hold and burned brightly. He added more wood until he was satisfied, then laid out his bedroll on the floor. The sun had set and thrown the cabin into darkness save for the firelight. He stared into the flames, his mind wandering.
There was a rustle in the adjoining room. His brow furrowed – rats? He thought he’d seen one when he first entered the cabin. Likely there was a whole nest of them in the next room. He should go and check, since he had no desire to share his bedroll with a curious rodent. He stood with a groan and shuffled into the other room, his muscles stiff after the hard day’s ride. He really should have supper and something to drink – he’d do that as soon as he sorted out the rat problem.
He stared into the blackness, but his eyes couldn’t make out anything in the adjoining room after being fixed on the fire. He sighed and returned to the hearth, thrust a stick into the fire and waited for it to light, then carried it back. The flame flickered and almost expired, but he shielded it with one hand, and it persisted long enough to push back the darkness and give him a glimpse … his eyes flew wide and he cursed beneath his breath – what in Heaven’s name? He stumbled back and stared some more.
There was a woman in there, sitting against one wall, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head tucked behind them. He couldn’t see her face, but when she moved he gasped. She was alive. “Hello?” he said.
Slowly her head lifted and she caught his gaze, her eyes filled with fear.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. You just startled me is all. I didn’t know anyone was back here. I’m sorry … is this your cabin?” He stepped closer, but the flame on his stick flickered and died, throwing them both into darkness. He hurried back to the hearth and lit it again. This time it caught more quickly and flamed brighter.
When he turned again, she was standing in the doorway to the larger room, her hands linked beneath a swollen stomach. He swallowed and nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m Ost … Hank Oster.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “Hello.”
He could see her hands trembling and realized he must have scared the life out of her, showing up that way and building himself a fire. He set the stick down in the hearth and moved slowly toward her. “Is this your cabin?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He frowned. “Are you here alone?”
She scanned the room, her breathing intensifying. “I don’t know.”
He frowned. “What’s your name?”
She twisted her hands together, stared at them, then caught his gaze again. “I don’t know.”
Ost rested his elbows on his knees and poked the fire with the same stick he’d used as a torch an hour earlier. The woman sat on his bedroll, her legs tucked beneath her. There was mud along one side of her face and a large purple knot on her forehead. She was expecting. And she didn’t seem to know the first thing about herself. He’d asked her name several more times, and she’d given him a blank look and shook her head. Either she was an accomplished liar, or she’d lost her memory. Given the size of the lump on her forehead, he guessed the latter.
But it still didn’t explain what she was doing all alone in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. She was an attractive young woman, wearing well-made if soiled clothing. Someone must be looking for her. “Do you remember how you got here?”
She shook her head again.
He frowned. She couldn’t have walked far given her condition. “Well, we can’t go looking for your family tonight. We’ll have to try in the morning. So you can have my bedroll. I’ll take the spare blanket.”
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Ost.”
His cheeks warmed as he spread the blanket on the floor and lay on his back, his hands linked behind his head. He could see her settling into the bedroll out of the corner of his eye. Her family couldn’t be far. The cabin was only a few miles from the Montana Trail – perhaps they’d been traveling it when something happened to separate them. She’d fallen and hit her head, or someone had hit her, and disoriented, she’d wandered along until she found the cabin. There was no evidence anyone else had been there recently, no horse tracks in the dirt outside.
His eyes wouldn’t drift shut. He felt as though his insides had been wound up like a clock – he couldn’t relax, let alone get to sleep. He didn’t know anything about the woman lying so close to him, and there was something about her that made him want to know everything. She looked about his age, maybe a few years younger. Her long blond hair was caught up in a bun at the nape of her neck, but long strands had come loose and hung around her pretty face. When her large blue eyes found his, he’d thought he might never catch his breath again.
And yet she was obviously married to someone else – someone who was probably out there looking for her that very moment, anxious and afraid for her well-being.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. If only she could tell him anything that might make finding her loved ones easier. The nearest settlement was miles away, so it wasn’t likely she was from the area. He’d take a look around in the morning, but if he didn’t find anyone he’d have to bring her back to Bozeman with him. The sheriff would know of any reports of a missing woman while he was gone.
He leaned up on one elbow and studied her where she lay on her side. She was asleep, or appeared to be. Her lips were parted slightly and she breathed deeply and slowly, one hand resting on her belly. He lay back down and shut his eyes. He’d best try to get some sleep – he had a big day ahead of him tomorrow.
Ost drifted off and dreamed of riding Auger behind a herd of longhorns. He laughed when Vaquero challenged him to a riata-tossing competition, and his rope sailed through the air to pull tight around a yearling’s horns. He smiled in his sleep and let his dreams carry him away.
A scraping sound awakened Ost and he sat up with a start, his mind scrambling to find his bearings. His heart raced and he took a deep breath. Right – the cabin. He scanned the room and saw his bedroll lying empty on the floor. The front door was open – that must’ve been the sound that woke him.
He jumped to his feet, and the stiffness of passing an entire night with nothing between his long body and the cold floorboards but a thin blanket made him wince. He shuffled forward, already rocking his head from side to side to stretch
the kinks from his neck. “Um … hello?” Not knowing the woman’s name made things even more awkward between them than they should’ve been.
Outside, he saw her standing beside Auger, stroking the stallion’s neck, one hand resting protectively on her enlarged stomach. He wandered over to her and smiled. “Did you sleep well?”
She returned his smile. “Not really. The floor’s a bit hard.”
He chuckled. “I know what you mean.” He rubbed the small of his back.
She petted Auger’s neck again, smiling as her hand glided over his smooth black coat.
“So I guess we should eat some breakfast, then look for your family.”
A flash of fear crossed her face. “Oh.”
He frowned. “That’s not what you want?” Why wouldn’t she want to look for her loved ones?
She bit her lower lip.
He decided not to push. “Fine. We don’t have to search for them if you’d rather not. But then I’d have to take you back to Bozeman with me. The sheriff, my boss, will know if anyone’s reported you missing.”
The woman looked away, shivered and stared at a large spruce that towered over the rest of the trees at the edge of the field. He could tell she was wracking her mind for some hint, some memory.
Hank patted Auger’s flank and glanced her way. A duck flew low overhead, and its call made her jump. She glanced up, saw the bird pass by and exhaled slowly with relief. Why was she so jittery? What was she afraid of? He didn’t know, but he sensed she didn’t want anyone to look for her. Why? She was like a little bird that had fallen from its nest – every small sound seemed to frighten her. “What should I call you? I can’t just keep saying ‘hello’ whenever I want to get your attention.” He laughed awkwardly.
“I don’t know … I’ve always liked the name Rose.”
He nodded. “Rose is a pretty name. I can call you that.”
She didn’t say anything but walked back toward the cabin.
Ost followed. “We only have one horse, as I’m sure you’ve realized. Can you ride?” He didn’t know what women in her condition could and couldn’t do. If she couldn’t ride, they’d be in even deeper trouble. There was no way she could walk as far as Bozeman.
She stopped and met his gaze. “I can ride.”
“It won’t … hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She wasn’t very convincing, but Ost knew they didn’t have a choice. Maybe she did too. If only she knew more – like who she was or where she’d come from.
Keep reading…
Historical Notes & Author’s Remarks
The Underground Railroad, which ran from the southern United States over the Mason Dixon line and even into Canada, is a fascinating part of history. There’s no way for us to know how many slaves used the Railroad, a system of people, houses, boats and more, to run to freedom, but we do know that it was likely in the thousands.
The Underground Railroad was a network of secret routes and safe houses established in the United States during the early to mid-19th century, and used by slaves to escape into free states and Canada with the aid of various abolitionists and allies.
One particular stop along the way in Memphis Tennessee, the home of a German immigrant named Jacob Burkle, has become known as “Slave Haven”. Stories have circulated around Memphis for years about the Burkle Estate, a house near the Mississippi River which, prior to the Civil War, may have served as a stop on the Underground Railroad, helping slaves make their way north to freedom. This is the very same house I had Claudine stay at, during her first night of freedom.
In the deep South, the Fugitive Slave Act of 1793 made capturing escaped slaves a lucrative business, and there were fewer hiding places for them. Fugitive slaves were typically on their own until they got to certain points farther north.
Then, in 1850 another law was introduced that made it even harder for escaped slaves to start a new life - the Fugitive Slave Act. It required that all escaped slaves were, upon capture, to be returned to their masters and that officials and citizens of free states had to cooperate in this law. Abolitionists nicknamed it the "Bloodhound Law" for the dogs that were used to track down runaway slaves. In this book, Jack didn’t use bloodhounds, nor did he claim the bounty on Claudine’s head, but he did take the opportunity to sell her to a slave trader and claim his reward that way.
Making it even harder still for escaped slaves, most had no way of knowing which direction to take once they ran. One method for finding their way was through the song, Follow the Drinking Gourd - the words of the song gave directions on how to get safely to the north (following the big dipper and the north star), and slaves taught it to each other to help any who escaped find their way. The lyrics referred to various landmarks, such as dead trees marked with charcoal and mud drawings. Secret signs and symbols, songs and hiding places, were all part of the underground railroad, which came to its official end at the start of the Civil War.
After that, the story takes us to Denver, however briefly, and we read about the troubled history of that city. Denver is a fascinating place, and the fires, floods and various other disasters that pockmark its history must have made for a hardy group of citizens. I’ve been to Denver a few times, not realizing all the city had survived. I hope to visit it again someday, and write more stories in that setting.
The initial theme for this book was revenge. I watched an old western movie with my husband, and was reminded how many of the old westerns were about revenge. But, in true form, as the story progressed the theme morphed on its own into one of forgiveness and redemption. I can’t seem to help myself! Themes of internal healing, redemption, and God’s love, always seem to find their way into my books.
Finally, to the name of our heroine — one of my good friends, Claudine, made a joke that I should name a character after her. So I did. My friend, Claudine, is strong, and feisty, and always stands up for what is right and good and for people who can’t stand up for themselves. So, I dedicate this story to her.
I hope you’re enjoyed it. Look out for the next book in the series, coming soon.
Warm regards,
Vivi Holt
Also by Vivi Holt
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
Winds of Paradise
Lost in Laredo
Cheyenne Reckoning
Forgotten Trails
Cutter’s Creek
The Strong One
The Betrothed
Cherished
Season of Love
Captivated
Beguiled
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Visit my website at www.viviholt.com for an updated list of my books
About the Author
Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, turned saddler, and her mother a nurse, who stayed home to raise their four children.
After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband, and they were married three years later. She spent seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense country and the American people.
Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of Information Technology, and worked in the field ever since until becoming a full-time writer in 2016. She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church.
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Copyright © 2018 by Vivi Holt
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