“Three? I only saw two.”
“One of them wanted to talk with his pistol instead of his mouth. Now he can do neither,” Sam said matter of factly.
“Here’s yer coffee,” Artis said, joining them with a steaming cup. “I made a fresh batch, but I let it cool a wee bit.”
“I’m grateful,” Stephen told her. “I believe I’ll enjoy this more than any cup I’ve ever had.” He blew on the hot brew and then risked a small sip.
Catherine came in carrying a basket of food. “Mrs. Wrigley helped us pack this up for you,” Catherine said. Between the three of us, I think we packed a hearty meal for your family.”
“Catherine, you should have let me or Artis carry that basket,” Sam admonished.
“Oh, it’s not that heavy,” she answered, dismissively.
“Jane and the children will be grateful,” Stephen said. “We only packed enough food for our trip, thinking we would arrive much sooner.”
“Do you need anything else?” Sam asked.
“I just need to get going,” Stephen answered, the urgency returning to his voice. He swallowed several large gulps of the coffee. “Bear should be nearly through hitching up the team by now. I’ll go check on George.” Taking the last of the coffee in one big swallow, he sat the cup down and tugged his gloves on his now steady hands.
Sam turned to Catherine. “Little John will be tagging along with his uncles. He’s dressing now.”
“I’ll go be sure he wears his warm clothes,” Catherine said, heading toward their son’s room.
“I figure with the repair work on the wheel, we should expect you back around noon,” Sam said. “I know I don’t have to say it, but take good care of Little John for me. I know they’re tied up, but don’t let him get anywhere near Dixon or Crowell.”
“I’ll guard him well,” Stephen promised, and then he bid goodbye to Artis and Catherine as soon as she rejoined them with Little John readied.
Little John carried his rifle. His shot pouch and powder horn hung from his shoulder. Sam was glad his son thought about preparing for danger. Living in the wild necessitated that way of thinking.
“I see I’ll have an extra man to protect my daughters,” Stephen said.
“It was my birthday present,” Little John said holding the rifle up. He straightened his back and stood a bit taller.
It won’t be long, Sam thought, before he’s as tall as I am.
He peered down at his son, and made his voice firm. “Remember the number one rule. Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you are certain you’re aiming at something you want to kill. Rifles don’t kill. You do.”
“I’ll remember. Until I know what I’m aiming at, I’ll keep my trigger finger pointed straight out, like this,” Little John said, showing him exactly the way Sam had taught him. “And I’ll never touch the trigger until I see inside of my head what’s in my rifle’s sights.”
“And?” Stephen asked. “The number two rule.” Stephen knew what it was because Sam was the one who taught him.
“I will never be afraid or reluctant to defend myself or my family,” Little John said.
“You make me proud son,” Sam said. He grabbed the basket of food and walked them out to the porch.
Bear pulled the wagon up with a new wheel loaded in the back and George tied behind.
Stephen helped Little John jump up onto the wagon seat. Bear and Stephen moved him in between them and covered him with a blanket before taking off.
“Tell Garvin I said to keep a hawk’s eye on those two snakes,” Sam called after them.
Chapter 19
The forest seemed eerily pure to Bear, covered in its mantle of white, as he and Stephen hurried toward the broken down wagon. The crisp air smelled clean and the sun’s rays beamed through the trees like shafts of long delicate crystals.
It wasn’t long before Little John fell asleep on Stephen’s lap.
“The lad must still be tired from his ordeal,” he told Stephen.
“What happened exactly?” Stephen asked.
Bear recounted the terrible events from start to finish.
“I can’t believe those men abducted a child,” Stephen said. “We’d best pick up the pace. I don’t want my children around men like that any longer than necessary.”
“Aye,” Bear agreed, giving the reins a quick snap. “I’m sure Dixon could tell from the look on Sam’s face, when they talked to him, that they would have to do somethin’ drastic to get Sam to sign. Sam is na a man to waver or sit on the fence. Once he’s made up his mind, it’s decided.”
“Agreed. And, I think Sam is right. Gold must have been their motivation. Gold has made men do stupid things for thousands of years.”
“In tryin’ to gain the world, some men lose their souls,” Bear said.
“When Garvin and his men came by, I assumed the two men were the strangers trying to buy Wyllie Mountain. I was in such a rush to get help for my family, I didn’t even ask Garvin why they were prisoners. The fact that Sam wanted them sent to jail was all I needed to know.”
“Aye, they’re the same snakes,” Bear said.
“If I’d known what they did to Little John, I would have given them a taste of a Wyllie fist in their viperous mouths,” Stephen said. “They may still get a taste of my fist. How dare they frighten our nephew like that?”
“Aye, they place no value on common decency. I found it hard to restrain myself around the two. Judgin’ from the looks of Crowell, he got more than one taste of Sam’s fists. But Sam held me back when I wanted to break Dixon’s fingers to get the wretched arse to tell us where Little John was. As usual, Sam kept his head and it paid off.”
“Frankly, I’m a little surprised he didn’t dispatch the two to hell once he recovered Little John. Sam has never put up with men like that,” Stephen said.
“Aye, but he’s a father to Little John now and soon goin’ to have a babe of his own.”
“Perhaps Catherine has calmed the warrior inside him,” Stephen suggested.
“Nay, the warrior is still there. He just has more to live for.”
“Indeed, he does,” Stephen agreed.
“Speakin’ of more to live for, what did ye think of Artis?”
“She’s a jewel, Bear. A lovely Scottish gem. Tell me about her and how you met her. Even more important, how did you convince her to marry a big ox like you?”
Bear briefly relayed how Artis grew up in the Highlands, close to the village where Bear’s parents lived. “She was forced to leave her home during the Highland clearances, when the Countess of Sutherland wanted her land cleared to make room for profitable sheep farming. Artis became an indentured servant on a Virginia plantation and then received land in Kentucky, located near William and Kelly’s place, as her freedom dues.” Then he told Stephen how they met and fell in love. He described their wedding in considerable detail and the home he built for her that they named Highland.
“I’m so happy for you both,” Stephen said.
“Our past and our future were entwined so tightly, we were destined to meet,” Bear concluded.
“Amazing story,” Stephen declared. “That would make a great book.”
“Artis is a bit of a romantic. Maybe she’ll write it someday,” Bear said, laughing. “I didn’t even tell ye about the men who tried to take Artis from me. But I’ll save that for another evenin’ when we’ve shared a wee droppy or two. It’s a tough story to tell, even for me.”
“I’ll look forward to it. You always were a great story teller.”
Bear pointed to a doe and her fawn as they sprinted away to safety.
He glanced down to be sure Little John still slept soundly. The child’s soft snores told Bear he was. “Did Sam tell ye their babe might be breech?” Bear asked quietly.
Stephen answered in a hushed voice, “He did. It’s alarming. If something happened to Catherine, I don’t know if Sam could survive.”
“I agree. The thought of losin’ her was his onl
y fear before he finally allowed himself to love her,” Bear said. “He’s been through so much in his lifetime, but never somethin’ this dangerous.”
“And out of his control to stop it. Perhaps one day in the future, women will not have to put their own lives at stake to bring life into this world,” Stephen said wistfully. “Every time Jane is due to deliver, my insides twist into knots.”
“I fear Sam will be even worse.”
“Oh!” Catherine exclaimed, holding her side, as Sam returned from watching Bear and Stephen leave.
Sam held his breath and strode over to her at once. “What is it?” he asked, holding both her shoulders in his hands.
“I just felt that ache again and I’m a bit woozy.”
“Should I go get the midwife?” he asked.
Catherine shook her head. “No, she should be coming tomorrow. I just need to lie down.”
Sam and Artis helped Catherine to their room and eased her onto the bed. Sam removed her satin slippers and then supported her back as she reclined on the bed and Artis covered her with a quilt. “I’ll go get Mrs. Wrigley,” he said, leaving.
“Sam,” he heard her say, “everything will be all right.”
He made himself smile for her, turned around, and headed for the kitchen. “Mrs. Wrigley, Miss Henk, my wife is having that pain again. Will you please see if you can do anything for her?”
“Oh dear. Miss Henk, please brew her some of my mugwort tea,” Mrs. Wrigley told the housekeeper. “Mind you, make the brew weak. Just a teaspoon will do.”
“Come with me,” Sam told Mrs. Wrigley.
The woman followed on Sam’s heels, clucking to herself, but before she entered the room, she straightened and took a deep breath. The picture of calm, she approached Catherine with quiet assurance.
Unlike himself. His resolution to stay strong faded beneath the glaring intensity of his fears. A terrible sense of inadequacy swept over him. He felt completely useless and helpless. He didn’t like the feeling one bit.
“So, that nasty ache decided to come back and prickle your side?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.
“Yes, stronger than ever,” Catherine answered.
Sam didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
“Did it get better when you laid down?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.
“Yes, it always does.”
“What does that mean?” Sam demanded. His eyes flashed between Catherine, Artis, and Mrs. Wrigley.
Catherine and Artis remained silent and Mrs. Wrigley merely smiled sweetly at him.
“Someone please answer me,” he insisted, his voice louder than he intended.
“Mr. Wyllie, will you let your sweet wife relax for a few minutes? I’ll speak with you shortly, when Catherine finishes her tea,” the cook suggested in a kind voice.
Why did women always want him to leave the room? This was his babe too. But Mrs. Wrigley was right. Catherine needed to relax and there was little chance of that happening with him in the room. With his men gone, he needed to feed all the horses and other livestock anyway. It would take him some time. “I’ll go feed the stock. When I get back, I pray you will feel better,” he told Catherine, then he gave her a kiss on the forehead. His own brow creased as he smoothed wisps of hair away from her face—her skin felt moist, although it was quite chilly in their room.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to leave. “Come and get me if she worsens in any way,” he told Artis.
“Aye, I will.”
Reluctantly, he turned to leave.
Miss Henk passed him in the hall carrying a steaming cup of tea.
Please Lord, let it help her.
Catherine sat up in bed, her red bed pillows propped behind her back. She sipped the warm tea. “It tastes a bit bitter. What is this?” she asked.
“A weak tea of mugwort will quiet restlessness and worry,” Mrs. Wrigley answered. “Right now, it’s important for you and your babe to rest as much as possible. And it’s good for the insides of a woman too.”
Catherine remembered reading that when taken in small doses, mugwort had long been considered an herbal friend for women with particular benefit in regulating a woman’s monthly flow and easing the transition to change of life. Perhaps it would help.
“I know I’m not a midwife, I’m just a cook. But would you mind if I placed a hand where the pain hits you?”
“No, I would not mind. I would value your opinion,” Catherine said. “Help me out of my gown and I’ll show you the spot.”
Both women helped Catherine out of the gown and dressed only in her shift, Catherine laid back down. “It’s here.”
“Right under yer ribs?” Artis asked.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Wrigley moved Catherine’s long braid aside and placed her palm over the spot. The cook closed her eyes and gently felt the area. When she finished she opened her eyes and took hold of Catherine’s hand.
“Put your palm here Catherine.”
Catherine did as she said, but felt nothing but a large lump that more than filled her hand. Then realization struck. “That’s not a foot.”
“No, my dear. That is your babe’s head.”
Artis let out a little cry and covered her mouth. The anxious look on Artis’ face told Catherine that Artis knew what this meant.
But her own mind refused to focus on anything but this special moment. “My boy’s head?” Catherine eyes watered with tears as she realized her hand caressed the top of her sweet babe’s head. Despite her fears, she felt a hot and overwhelming joy. She moved her hand in a gentle small circle. It felt as though she was actually touching him. God, let this be only the first of many special moments I will share with my son.
But her elation was short-lived. With a heart-clenching pang, the implications gradually sunk in. Danger for her baby. Danger for her. Her nerves instantly tensed as a terrible dread gripped her.
“The babe may still turn. Give him time,” Mrs. Wrigley quickly told her, patting the hand Catherine still held to her side. Her face was full of quiet strength and a steadfast peace.
Catherine found the motherly woman’s presence comforting. “Do you think so? Truly?”
“Oh yes, indeed I do. I’ve seen it happen many a time,” Mrs. Wrigley said.
“Aye, I have as well. At the plantation, one of the young slaves was just as ye are. And the lass delivered a healthy girl,” Artis said.
Their reassurances gave her some hope. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.
Catherine wondered what plantation Artis referred to, but didn’t have the energy to ask. Her eyelids felt exceedingly heavy all of a sudden, but she fought the urge to close them. “I have so much to do. The rest of Sam’s relatives will be arriving shortly. I so want everything to be perfect. I want to make this the best Christmas ever for everyone, especially Little John and the other children.”
“It will be dear one,” Mrs. Wrigley assured her. “We have everything under control. Miss Henk wrapped all the presents you bought for them in paper and pretty bows. The decorations you and Miss Henk made are merry and I’m cooking enough to feed even your large family.”
“Don’t forget to make apple dumplings for Bear and custard for William,” Catherine said.
“I won’t.” Mrs. Wrigley squeezed her hand.
“Artis, what’s your favorite Christmas sweet?” Catherine asked.
“Yer only concern should be restin’ ,” Artis said. “We’ve plenty of time to worry about such things later.”
“Rest does sound marvelous right now. I guess it’s the tea.” Her heavy eyelids closed and she heard Mrs. Wrigley’s voice fading away.
“That’s it, dear, let yourself rest.”
She would. They had most everything under control.
God had the rest.
Chapter 20
Bear spotted the wagon at the same time Stephen pointed ahead. He slowed a bit, disturbed by what he thought he saw. “Somethin’ is na right.”
Stephen lifted his long
rifle from where it lay near his boots.
Bear shook Little John. “Wake up!”
Sam’s four men sat on the snowy ground, their hands and feet tied. They could see the tops of Martha and Polly’s heads at the front of the disabled wagon.
“Jane,” Stephen whispered. “I don’t see Jane.”
“It could be an ambush,” Bear cautioned. He surveyed the surrounding area with his keen eyes. “I do na see the prisoners either,” he said.
Stephen could hold back no longer. “Go!”
Bear snapped the reins and then snapped them again, urging the wagon team to a full run over the hundred yards or so to the other wagon.
“Bear!” Garvin yelled above the sound of the noisy wagon. “Help! The prisoners escaped!”
As Bear slowed the wagon team, Stephen leapt off the seat and vaulted into the back of the broken wagon, still leaning precariously to one side. The fire he had built nearby, earlier that morning, was now just a few glowing coals.
“Father!” Martha and Polly cried at once and stood up.
“Samuel? Where is he?” Stephen prodded.
“Under here,” Martha said, lifting a blanket up. Her green eyes were wide and glistening. “He was crying for Mother, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept him warm.”
While she spoke, Stephen glanced around frantically. “Where’s your Mother?”
“They took her!” Polly cried. “Those terrible men took her.” The child’s dark hair hung in disarray and her crystal blue eyes were red. “Get her back!” she screamed and then began sobbing.
Little John climbed up into the wagon and hugged first Polly and then Martha.
Bear peered over the side of the wagon.
His chest heaving, Stephen glared at Bear. “Son of a bitch!”
“We’ll find her, Stephen,” Bear said, trying to calm both Stephen’s fury and his own.
Stephen picked up Polly and hugged her. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll get her back.” He wrapped her in one of the blankets.
As soon as he realized the children were unharmed, Bear rushed over to the four men and untied them. “What the hell happened?” he asked Garvin.
Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) Page 15