Sooner or Later

by Vickie McDonough

  Print ISBN 978-1-59310-850-2

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-900-5

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-901-2

  SOONER OR LATER

  Copyright © 2005 by Vickie McDonough. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  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

  Contact the Author

  Author Bio

  prologue

  April 2, 1889, Southeastern Arkansas

  Never in her whole life had Rebekah Bailey done anything so daring, but then, she’d never been this desperate. She peered over her shoulder as she tiptoed toward the barn. In silent support, her shadow marched eerily beside her. The full moon illuminated the rickety A-frame house that had always been her home. The breath she’d been holding came out in a ragged sigh. At least she’d managed to get out of the house without Pa hearing her. But she was far from safe.

  Her heartbeat resounded in her ears, and she was certain her neighbors miles away could hear it. Hugging her ancient carpetbag against her chest, she hurried faster.

  Sucking in a deep, chilling breath, Rebekah managed to squeeze through the narrow barn door opening without it squeaking. Hopefully, she’d saddle Prince just as quietly, then slip away without waking the man in the house. If not, her world would end—and all her dreams along with it.

  The old horse raised his head to peer at her, snorted softly, then ducked back down as if he knew it wasn’t time to be awakened. Rebekah set aside her small bundle of possessions. The bulky saddle was always a struggle to lift; but tonight, under stress and fear, she thought it felt extraordinarily heavy. With a grunt, she labored to hoist it onto Prince’s back, stealing glances at the barn door lest Pa sneak up on her. Once she had the saddle in place and cinched, she used the leather strings behind the cantle to secure the handles of the old carpetbag that held everything she owned.

  “Come on, Prince. You’re my champion—my only means of escape,” Rebekah whispered to the old gelding as she led him from the stall. His brown ears flicked back and forth as if he were listening intently. “Ride the wind tonight, my prince.”

  She looped her canteen over the saddle horn, twisted the stirrup around, and inserted her foot. With a quick hop and a soft grunt, she pulled herself onto the horse, ducking her head to avoid smacking it into the hayloft. Rebekah tapped her heels to Prince’s side. He raised his head and snorted but didn’t move.

  “Oh, no. C’mon, boy. Please go.” She nudged him again. Prince blew out a soft nicker and mild snort of resignation, then plodded forward.

  Rebekah pushed against the barn door with her foot. It swung open on a groan and high-pitched squeal. Body tensing and every nerve fraying, she darted her gaze toward the house. “Oh, please, Lord, don’t let Pa hear. Please, God, help me,” she pleaded to the moonlit sky.

  No shadows moved in the night, and nobody rushed out of the house to stop her. Rebekah clicked twice out the side of her mouth and nudged the horse with her heels. Prince trotted out of the yard and down the road. The thunk of his hooves pounding against the hard ground sounded to Rebekah like the mighty roar of a herd of cattle rumbling by.

  She blew out a “Shhh,” knowing it did no good. Rebekah took another glance at the only home she’d ever known, wishing desperately that things were different. To the north, she saw the shadowy outline of the mighty oak tree standing guard over the graves where her mother and little brother were buried.

  Rebekah slowed Prince to a walk and allowed herself a wisp of a moment to bid them good-bye. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t do what he demands of me,” she whispered to the headstones enclosed behind the weathered picket fence. Her stomach churned with the regret of what could have been, and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  If only I could turn back time. Back to when Mama and Davy were alive. Back to when we were a relatively happy family. Back before Pa hated me. If only …

  A sharp creak in the direction of the house jerked Rebekah from her reverie. With a quick tug on the reins and a nudge of her foot to his flank, she turned Prince west. West toward the open plains and Indian Territory. West toward Denver—and freedom. She prayed it was the last place Pa would think to look for her.

  The chanting of tree frogs lent music to her ride, and an owl hooted somewhere in a nearby tree. She used to love the sounds of the night, but now they only reminded her of her pain and loneliness. Hoping to ward off the chill, she tugged her worn cloak around her. The world seemed normal, asleep, as it should in the middle of the night. Rebekah felt anything but normal. Her world had fallen apart this evening with Pa’s declaration. Nothing would ever be the same for her. She shivered at the memory.

  “I’ve made a deal with Giles Wilbur,” he’d said, grinning with pride. “Swapped you for a side of beef and some moonshine. In the morning, you’ll be moving in with him to be his woman.” Thoughts of the drunken sloth of a man more than twice her age made her blood run cold. How could Pa expect her to live with Mr. Wilbur without even the sanctity of a wedding? How could he simply swap her like she was something to be bartered? Bile churned in her stomach and burned a path to her throat. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down her cheeks.

  She’d never felt so alone. Completely alone—as though not a single person in the world cared for her—but the gentle touch of the wind to her cheek reminded her of the One who never failed. Rebekah turned to her heavenly Father as Prince trotted down the dark road.

  “Protect me, Lord—and show me the way. And, Father … oh, Father, give me courage for the ride ahead, and strengthen Prince’s old bones—”

  The faint sound of approaching hoofbeats intruded on Rebekah’s prayer.

  Oh, no! Pa!

  She was certain her heart would jump clear out of her chest. The reins nearly slipped from her trembling hands. Fear of what was behind her overpowered the fear of what was ahead.

  Taking a deep, determined breath and a firm grip on the reins, Rebekah dug her heels into Prince’s side.

  “He-yah,” she cried softly.

  Prince vaulted into a gallop and raced down the road.

  one

  “I gots to go, Unca Mathon.”

  Mason Danfield pushed the black Stetson up on his forehead and turned in his seat to look at his three-year-old niece. “Aw, Katie, not again.” She twirled a lock of golden hair around her pudgy finger and stuck out her bottom lip in a little pout. “You’re serious? Not just wantin’ out of the wagon?”

  “I gots to go weal bad.” Katie bounced up and down on her quilt in the back of the
covered wagon.

  Mason glanced past her to where his seven-year-old nephew sat pretending to shoot Indians with his stick rifle. Jimmy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t forget the last time you didn’t stop when she said she had to go.” He lifted the edge of the patchwork quilt that hung out the back of the wagon, drying in the warm afternoon sun. Jimmy crossed his arms and sighed. “It’s not fair. Why couldn’t she go on her own quilt?”

  Mason pressed his lips together, holding back the chuckle threatening to escape. “Don’t worry about it, pardner. There’s bound to be some water up ahead. We’ll get your quilt washed out soon as we can.” Mason pulled back on the long leather reins. “Whoa, Belle, Duke. Hold up there.”

  The big Conestoga wagon groaned to a stop, and Mason set the brake. Harnesses jingled as the four draft horses stomped and snorted as though they knew it wasn’t time to stop yet. Mason jumped down from the tall wagon seat, sending a cloud of dust flying around his boots when he landed. He stretched and twisted to work the kinks out of his back, then scanned the area as he walked around behind the wagon. The tall prairie grass and gently rolling hills were a welcome relief after the steep, green hills of the Ozarks they’d recently crossed.

  “Come on, Katie. Make it fast.” He waved for her to come to him. “We’ve got a long ways to travel today. You, too, pard. You know the rule.”

  “Yep; when we stop, everyone goes.” Jimmy scrambled over the back of the wagon and headed for a group of small trees before Mason had a chance to lift Katie out.

  The little cherub stood with her arms reaching toward him. He looked into her angelic face, and his heart clenched the way it always did whenever he thought of Katie’s mother. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the memory of his loving sister back into the hidden recesses of his mind. In the future, he would avoid looking directly into the little girl’s face. It only made what he was preparing to do all that much harder.

  Mason released a heavy breath and lifted his niece over the wagon’s tailgate. “Come on, Katie girl, let’s go take care of business.”

  “You sad, Unca Mathon?” Katie’s soft hand stroked his cheek, and against his wishes, Mason leaned into the caress.

  “Yeah, sugar, I’m a little sad.”

  “I sad, too. I miss Mama. When’s Mama coming back?” Katie’s brow crinkled as her thumb eased toward her pink lips.

  Mason sighed. “Katie, how many times do I have to explain this? You know your mama and Aunt Annie are in heaven now. They aren’t coming back.” Mason shifted the little girl to his other arm and chastised himself for being so gruff with her. He sorely missed his wife and sister. How could he not expect a three-year-old to miss her mother just as much? Life was so unfair.

  Mason lowered Katie to the ground, and she ran behind an old stump. He looked heavenward and uttered the silent prayer again.

  God, how could You let Annie and Danielle die? Why didn’t You protect them?

  His throat tightened, and his eyes closed against the burning sensation. He was a grown man pushing thirty, yet every time he thought about the death of his wife, Annie, and their unborn child, and his sister, Danielle, he felt like crying. Sobbing, just like Katie did the time she’d lost her favorite doll.

  The accident was his fault. If only I’d—

  “Got somethin’ in your eyes, Uncle Mason?” Jimmy asked, skidding to a stop beside him.

  Mason rubbed his eyes. It wouldn’t help the kids to know he was upset. “Probably just some dust. Looks like it hasn’t rained around these parts for quite a while.”

  Mason knew they were getting low on water, but he didn’t want to worry the boy. He hoped they’d come across fresh water soon. They needed it, their stock needed it, and they could all use a bath.

  Katie skipped back a moment later and yanked on his trousers to get his attention. “All done,” she said, a darling smile creasing the dimples on her cheeks.

  “Well then, back in you go.” Mason lifted Katie over the wagon’s tailgate and set her on her quilt. Her thumb went straight into her mouth. “Grab your dolly and lie down. It’s time you took your nap. By the time you wake up, we should be getting close to where we’ll make camp for the evening.” Katie nodded and curled up with her doll.

  Mason helped Jimmy onto the wagon seat then climbed up beside him.

  “How much longer until we get to Dad’s place?”

  “Don’t exactly know, Jim. Maybe another week or so.”

  “That long?” Jimmy whined. His forceful sigh fluttered his long, straight bangs; and he leaned forward on the seat, resting his elbows on his knees.

  Mason shook the reins and clucked to the horses. Snorting and pawing, the large animals lurched forward. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and studied his nephew. His features looked so much like his father, Jake’s. But the boy had Danielle’s dark coloring, just as Mason did. Except for their lightly tanned complexion, with their dark hair and black eyes they could have been mistaken for having Mexican or Indian heritage instead of French. In fact, Mason had been ridiculed many times for being a half-breed, even though his mother was French and his father, a Southern gentleman.

  Jake How would he deal with Danielle’s death? Would he even care? His scoundrel of a brother-in-law had chased one dream after another ever since marrying Mason’s sister. After moving five different times, Danielle had dug in her heels and refused to leave their home on the outskirts of St. Louis to follow Jake into Indian Territory. Mason exhaled a bitter laugh. The ironic thing was, she might still be alive if only she and the children had joined Jake. Then Mason would be missing her for a whole different reason. As it now stood, he missed his sister almost as much as his wife.

  For the hundredth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maybe he should just turn the wagon around and take the kids back to St. Louis, or better still, back to Charleston where his parents still lived on the family’s large plantation. But Mason knew he couldn’t do that either. There were too many bad memories. He needed to rid himself of all responsibilities. As much as he hated to admit it, that included the children. He couldn’t keep them; he needed to cut all ties to his past. Then he’d be free to ride west and forget the wonderful life he once had.

  Jimmy tugged on Mason’s sleeve, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked down at his nephew. The boy pointed to the trail ahead of them. “Look, there’s a rider up ahead. What’s the matter with ‘im?”

  Squinting against the bright glare of the afternoon sun, Mason pulled down the brim of his hat to shade his eyes and scanned the road up ahead. He reached down, picked up his rifle, and laid it across his lap. Mason studied the stranger as they pulled even with him, then scanned the tall prairie grass, hoping the rider wasn’t simply a decoy for an ambush. A man could easily hide in the thigh-high grass, but he couldn’t conceal a horse. His rigid back relaxed, and his heart slowed its quick pace as he realized the stranger was alone. The small man, hunched over and clinging to his saddle horn, didn’t even look up as they approached. Jimmy was right. Something was definitely wrong with the rider.

  “Ain’t you gonna stop?”

  “Nope. I’m not picking up someone who may be sick. Since we’re traveling alone, I don’t want to chance us catching anything out here on the trail. Besides, the man looks more drunk than sick.” Mason wondered what could cause someone to be inebriated in the middle of the afternoon. On second thought, he knew exactly the kind of pain that could drive a man to drink.

  He studied the stranger as they rode past him. It surprised him to discover the pale-faced rider was just a skinny boy, probably in his early teens. Surely he wasn’t drunk. If not, then he must be sick—sick enough he didn’t even look up or acknowledge there were others on the trail. They passed the rider, who bounced and reeled with each uneven step his old horse took. In truth, the horse looked to be worse off than the rider.

  Wrestling with his conscience, Mason continued down the trail. His hands were full enough with two small children. H
e didn’t need a sick teenager to care for on top of everything else.

  Then why do I feel so guilty?

  A movement flashed in the corner of his eye, snagging his attention, and he turned to look. Jimmy sat on his knees, backward on the seat, and hung halfway around the side of the wagon so that Mason couldn’t even see his head. He reached over, grabbing the tail of Jimmy’s faded shirt. “You lean any farther off the wagon seat, boy, and you’re gonna fall flat on your noggin. What’s so interesting back there?”

  “I’m waiting to see if’n that stranger gets up. He fell plumb off his horse.”

  Turning in his seat, Mason ducked his head, peering through the covered wagon’s opening and out the back end. Jimmy was right. The stranger lay flat on his back in the middle of the road. His horse grazed nearby. Mason glanced down at Katie. She slept with her thumb smashed against her bottom lip, blissfully unaware of the dilemma her uncle now faced.

  “Whoa, Belle, Duke. Here, pardner, hang on to these while I go back and check on that fellow.” Mason handed Jimmy the reins and set the brake. He jumped down, grabbed his rifle, and reached into the back of the wagon, searching the supplies until he found the canteen. As he walked toward the boy, Mason looked heavenward. “Don’t I already have enough responsibilities without You dumping another kid on me?” He shook his head. “Folks’ll be thinking this is one of those orphan trains.”

  Balancing against his rifle, Mason knelt beside the boy and studied his face. He had a delicate look about him—city boy, maybe—except his well-worn clothes more resembled something from a farmer’s scrap bag. Mason pushed aside the boy’s hat and laid his hand against the kid’s forehead. At least he didn’t have a fever. Maybe he wasn’t so sick after all. The boy stirred at Mason’s touch.

  He set his rifle down on the ground. With a twist of his thumb and forefinger, Mason uncorked the canteen and reached behind the boy to lift him up. His eyes widened and he yanked his hand back as though he’d been stung. The boy lay on top of something that felt like a fat snake—with fur. Cautiously, he lifted the boy’s shoulder and rolled him over onto his side. What in the world?