The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11

by Beth Williamson

  When life falls apart, love can make you whole again.

  The Malloy Family, Book 1

  As the “beautiful” sister, Isabelle Chastain always struggled to be taken seriously. But as her family immigrates to Oregon Territory, she loses her sister Francesca to marriage, and her parents to dysentery. It’s time to take control.

  With an empty wagon and a broken heart, she and her younger sister Charlotte turn for home to search for another sister, Josephine, left behind to recover from typhoid. The last thing Isabelle needs in her path is a naked, bleeding man left to die in the dirt.

  Dazzled by a friend’s stories of California gold, college professor Mason Bennett left North Carolina to get his share. All his dreams of adventure and riches got him, however, was robbed, beaten, and left for dead.

  As Isabelle stitches him up, he discovers her wit is as sharp as her needle. But when vagabonds seize their wagon, they must band together to save themselves—or any hope for a happy future could disappear.

  Warning: Saddle up for an Old West yarn, complete with a beautiful woman with more strength than ten men, a professor turned cowboy, a love that defies the odds, and adventure that will leave you gasping for more.

  The Jewel

  Beth Williamson

  Dedication

  To all the authors who have befriended me, guided me, laughed with me, and ultimately helped me succeed. You know who you are. I cannot express the depth of my gratitude with mere words. Thank you!

  Chapter One

  Outside Soda Springs, Idaho

  September 1848

  The shovel raised blisters on Isabelle Chastain’s hands, but she refused to stop. Her sister Charlotte dug alongside her, both of them blinded by tears, resolved to finish what they started. Isabelle didn’t want to think about what her hands looked like beneath the gloves she wore. They were slippery on the inside, a combination of sweat and blood as blisters burst.

  Some of the pioneers stood by and watched, their gazes full of discomfort and pity. Isabelle didn’t care what they thought. She and her sister would finish their task, no matter what. When they finally finished the first hole, Buck Avery, the wagon master, put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You’ve proved your point, Miss Chastain. Now let us dig the other.”

  She wanted to say no. She wanted to scream and rail at the heavens for allowing such a thing to happen. However, she thought about what her sister Josephine would do. The most logical and learned of all four sisters, Jo would likely tell her to accept the assistance. Isabelle’s heart cried out in protest, but she had to use her head.

  “Yes, please.” She handed him the shovel and waited while Charlie did the same. They stepped back and hugged each other. They trembled with emotion and exhaustion, their dresses soaked with dirt and sweat. Charlie was only fifteen, Isabelle not quite nineteen. Many people their age were engaged or married, but the Chastain sisters were particular. Only the oldest, Francesca, was married. Charlie and Isabelle were alone in the world, for all intents and purposes.

  Orphans.

  It was amazing how quickly someone could die. Seven days from the first symptoms until death claimed them. Their parents, Gaston and Marie Chastain, had passed within an hour of each other, still holding hands. The grueling pace of the wagon train didn’t allow Isabelle and Charlie enough time to nurse their parents. It took both of them to drive the heavy wagon and the six oxen. Isabelle had taken the reins when her father collapsed and never let go.

  Charlie had done her best to follow her mother’s instructions, as she was a skilled nurse. No matter what the sister did, dysentery sank its claws deeper and deeper into their parents and tore through them until they breathed their last.

  The Oregon Trail was more of a rolling cemetery. So many pioneers had died already and they weren’t yet to the Rocky Mountains, the most difficult part of their journey. The very thought of climbing those peaks with just the two of them made Isabelle sick to her stomach.

  Grief and fury gripped her. She clung to Charlie while the sun rose and the pioneers dug their father’s grave. Their journey west had been full of hope; now it was ashes. They had no idea their family would be torn to pieces before they reached the land of milk and honey.

  The eldest sister, Frankie, had been the first to leave the wagon train, married and content with her new husband, John Malloy. Then Josephine had fallen ill with typhoid, forced to stay behind at Fort John with Mr. Callahan. They had no idea if she’d survived or if she had also perished.

  Now Isabelle and Charlie were alone. Their family scattered to the winds.

  Orphans.

  The men stepped back when the second hole was dug. Mr. Avery looked to her. The big man had been a constant, if sometimes frustrating, presence. He had led them safely from the first day until now. He had to be as harsh as he was to keep everyone in good health. Folks with communicable diseases were left behind. Those with something like dysentery were pitied, but no special consideration was made for their care. To date, nearly all who had fallen ill had died.

  Including her parents.

  “You want to say a few words, Miss Chastain?” Buck motioned to the two bodies wrapped in sheets lying on the ground beside their wagon.

  “Of course.” She stepped forward as the men lowered her parents into the waiting holes. Charlie made a small sound beside her, one of a wounded animal. Isabelle swallowed the lump of emotion that had gathered in her throat with effort. She wasn’t sure she would be able to speak, but the words found her.

  “Gaston and Marie Chastain were good people who wished for a better life for their daughters and themselves. They gave us the most precious gift they could—their love and support. God received two angels into heaven this day.”

  She could not speak another word as grief washed over her with the force of a punch. The reality of losing her parents crashed into her and she gasped from the agony that wrenched her heart, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Isabelle put her hand in the pocket of her dress and clutched the wedding rings. Maman had insisted she take them if they died. Gold was a commodity they could sell if necessary.

  Charlie’s sobs grew louder and the men kept glancing at her with pity. Isabelle’s protective instincts surged and she walked her sister to the wagon.

  “Why don’t you lay down for a few minutes, tamia?”

  Their father had nicknames for all of his daughters. Frankie was lapin, the rabbit. Josephine was aigle, the eagle. Isabelle was moineau, the sparrow. And Charlie, the baby of the group, was tamia, the chipmunk. Each name was appropriate for the girls and had been their special bond with Papa. Now he was gone.

  Charlie’s brown eyes were wide in her freckled face, her already-frizzy hair a halo around her head, barely half-contained in a braid. “I can’t. It smells like death.”

  Isabelle understood and agreed. “Let me ready it for you then, hm?” She had to get her sister through this. Charlie was young and full of life. The loss of their parents would be harder for someone at such a tender age. Of course, it wasn’t easy for anyone at any age.

  Isabelle climbed into the wagon, making sure to breathe through her mouth. After gathering the bedding her parents had used, she tossed it out onto the grass. She pulled Charlie’s bedding from where it was folded up in the corner of the wagon. The girls had always slept beneath it, but now they would take their parents place within. Isabelle made a comfortable place for her sister and, as an afterthought, reached into their mother’s trunk and retrieved one of Maman’s handkerchiefs.

  “All right, it is time to re
st.” She led her sister to the new bed and tucked her in. When she pressed the handkerchief into Charlie’s hand, the girl took it with trembling fingers and pulled it to her nose, breathing deeply.

  “Maman.”

  “Oui, tamia, she is with us still in our hearts.” Isabelle kissed her sister’s forehead and climbed out of the wagon, her body and soul tired beyond measure.

  Mr. Avery waited for her, his hat in hand. The rest of the wagons were beginning to move, the daylight burning. “We waited until your folks were buried, but we have to keep moving.” He glanced at the ground and she braced herself for what he was going to say. “The way I see it you only got one choice. You gotta marry now or I don’t think you’ll make it.”

  She had expected it, but the man’s words hit her with the force of one of his large fists. “My sister and I have proven we can drive the wagon alone. We did so over the last week while my parents were ill.”

  “I gotta say that surprised me, but yep, you did. But for how long? This ain’t the hardest part of the trail, missy. You gotta think about what is coming. Even if you make it up the mountains to the other side, the wagon is all you got when you get there.” Mr. Avery scratched his nose. “No matter what your Papa had arranged, you can’t claim that land. You ain’t got nothing without a man.”

  Isabelle was raw with emotion and exhaustion. The last week—for that matter, the last five months—had been the hardest she’d ever endured. She was stronger than she imagined, but she was tired in every sense of the word. Now to have her self-worth reduced to nothing without a man was a reality she wasn’t prepared to accept.

  “You are saying I need to marry someone? Today?” She kept her voice calm while inside she was seething with fury.

  “As soon as possible. We ain’t got a preacher, but you got a few eligible men here who would be willing to take you and your sister on. Then you got a future.” Mr. Avery pointed at the prairie schooners as they moved west. “These folks ain’t gonna wait on two girls without a man to take care of them.”

  At that moment, Isabelle decided what she was going to do. Until Mr. Avery pushed her into considering her future, she had been too confused to see what the best choice was. Now she did. “I know you have the best intentions, Mr. Avery, but my sister and I will be leaving the wagon train.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. We will turn around and return to Fort John and retrieve my sister, Josephine. Then we will find my sister Frankie and her husband John.” Voicing it aloud made her stomach clench with fear, but alongside that fear was determination. She would make her family whole again. This was the right thing to do.

  Most people assumed she was the weakest of the sisters because of her beauty. She knew she was attractive and it had been a constant source of frustration. Except for her family, no one knew who she was. They assumed she was an empty-headed ninny. They were, of course, very wrong.

  “You can’t be serious.” Mr. Avery’s brows drew together.

  “Oh yes, I am very serious. We will no longer be your burden. I thank you for all you did for my family and I wish you a good journey.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the wagon. Decision made and determination set.

  They were going back to Wyoming.

  Mason Bennett hit the ground hard enough to make his teeth clack together. He skidded across the dirt, the rocks and sticks tearing at his skin. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably ten seconds, he slammed into a small mound and stopped.

  He lay there, unmoving. The fall had stripped his lungs of air and probably two feet of skin. He waited for the sound of gunshots, but none came. Minutes ticked by while every inch of his body let him know exactly what injuries had occurred. The horses rode away and he strained to hear every sound until he heard nothing. Thank God they had believed his ruse.

  Or rather, not quite a ruse. While he needed to play dead, he thought he might actually be half-dead. He was most assuredly naked. The sun rose and the morning grew warm and he lay there, unmoving and full of pain.

  He could be thankful they hadn’t shot him through the heart after they’d throw him from the horse. But thankful was the last emotion on his mind. Sons of bitches had taken everything except his life. No, he was angry and a wee bit vengeful.

  Time slowed to a crawl as he lay there, the sun rising higher into the sky and baking his raw skin. Flies and other manner of multi-legged critters found him lying prone and thought to stay awhile. He could die. Right here. Right now. A sobering thought.

  Hours passed in his pit of misery in the dirt before the sound of a wagon and oxen reached his ears and he managed to lift one arm. He waved it back and forth to get someone’s attention. Being naked, dirty and bloody might be a deterrent from whoever might actually see his pitiful wave. Yet he had to try.

  “Iz, did you see that?” A young girl’s voice drifted across the tall grass.

  Mason grunted and waved his arm harder.

  “It’s a person. You see? There’s an arm! Stop the wagon.”

  He mumbled something that may have been “thank you”, but the dirt cloud entered his mouth, ceasing intelligible speech. How could he have stooped to the point he was left to rot like a piece of refuse? He should be back in North Carolina teaching, but no, he was here in the middle of nowhere, hurt, penniless, naked and alone.

  Oh, how far he had fallen.

  “Stop the wagon. Hell and damnation, Iz, you are gonna run over the body.”

  Body? Whose body? His body? Mason tried to move, but he managed to only grunt and flail his arm some more. He hoped the foul-mouthed girl would find him.

  The jangle of harnesses preceded the crunch of the wheels on the hard-packed earth. Another puff of dirt hit his face and he attempted to duck his head and avoid the worst of it.

  “Oh good, you didn’t run over his head.”

  He was quite happy about that.

  “Do not get too close, Charlie. He could be armed.” This was a new voice, one that danced across his ears. Beautiful, dulcet tones that could only belong to an angel.

  “Uh, no I don’t think he’s armed, Iz.” The young voice grew closer and a pair of women’s boots, scuffed and worn, stopped in front of him.

  “How do you know that? He could have it hidden in his trousers.”

  A freckled face appeared in his line of vision, upside down, and frowning. “He ain’t wearing trousers, or any clothes for that matter. Plus he’s all beat up and bloody.”

  “What do you mean he isn’t wearing clothes? Are you saying the man is naked?” Another thump and rapid footsteps. “Sweet heavens.”

  “I told you.” The young face moved closer, her brown eyes clear and intelligent. “Why are you naked, mister?”

  “It would take an exceptionally long time to tell the story. I believe tending my wounds and finding adequate clothing is more pressing.” His voice was as rough as the ground beneath him.

  “You talk like Josephine. She’s my sister and she used to be a governess. My name is Charlotte Chastain, but everyone calls me Charlie.” She smiled and he could see the beautiful young woman she would be in several years.

  “You should not be speaking to a naked man, Charlie. Please return to the wagon at once.” There was the beautiful-voiced woman again.

  “He’s banged up pretty bad. Too bad Maman isn’t here to doctor him.” Charlie straightened. “I guess you’ll have to do it.”

  A long exhalation of breath. “What a marvelous idea.” Her tone said it was anything but. “Why don’t you fetch some water and bandages from the wagon?”

  “Yes!” The young woman ran off, leaving him with the other stranger.

  “I know you can hear me, so I will not raise my voice any higher or she will hear me.” Definitely not a happy conversation. “I am Isabelle Chastain. My sister is fifteen years old and impressionable. S
he is my responsibility. I will do my best to help you with your wounds, but I will not expose her to a naked man one second longer than necessary. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, indeed, I do, madam. I would appreciate your assistance more than you can imagine.” He gritted his teeth against the pain from his raw skin. “I would be eternally grateful if you had some sort of clothing I can borrow.”

  There were a few moments of silence before she spoke. “I happen to have men’s clothing that should fit you. Please wait here.”

  Mason wanted to point out he could hardly lift his arm much less vacate the general area. He grunted in response in case she required one. The sound of retreating footsteps met his ears. Although he couldn’t make out the words, the Chastain sisters were conversing with rapid-fire words. Several long minutes later, Isabelle returned and laid a blanket on him.

  “This will have to do for now. I’m afraid your wounds require me to dig out dirt and gravel from your skin.” She knelt down beside him with a basin. “I have some herbs and plants that will also help, if you’ll allow me to use them.”

  Mason turned his head until he was able to see her. He was glad he was prone or he might have fallen backward.

  Isabelle Chastain was a goddess in human form.

  Her eyes were the green of spring grass, framed by the longest eyelashes known to man. Her face was a work of art, high cheekbones and a classic jawline. The most exquisite chestnut-colored hair was piled atop her perfect head. The crowning glory to the picture she presented was her mouth. Plump, red lips pouted over straight, white teeth.

  “Have you looked your fill?” Her perfect mouth twisted.

  “I apologize, Miss Chastain. I banged my head quite a bit when I was tossed from a horse.”

  “Hmph. I’ve heard every excuse a man can conjure to explain staring at me. I recognize I am pleasing to the eye, but I wish nearly every day I were plain. Then I would know if someone saw me for who I truly am.” She dunked a rag in the water. “This is going to hurt.”