“It will be done,” Wanalancet finally said. He stood abruptly, removed one of the many strings of pearls on his chest, and placed the strand around Jane’s neck.
Jane’s face remained impassive, but her eyes, filled with gratitude, met Wanalancet’s. “God’s grace onto you,” she said with dignity.
Sam translated and Wanalancet nodded and turned away.
Moments later, the Chief and his braves disappeared into the woods.
Stephen turned to his wife. His wife.
Jane, crying from joy and relief, jerked the wolf skin off Stephen’s shoulders and tossed the rank hide aside before hugging him fiercely. She wanted to never let him go. She wanted him by her side every moment for the rest of her life. To love him forever and ever.
He kissed her as though it were their first kiss—gently at first and then with a passion as wild as the wilderness itself. Then they both ran toward the children. Stephen untied and picked up both girls, hugging them against his chest as she repeatedly kissed their faces. Bear helped Jane quickly untie Little John and he carried the boy over to John, while she ran to retrieve the painkiller the child would need. Sam and Catherine assisted John. William untied Kelly and putting his arm around her still shaking shoulders, guided her to a seat by the fire.
As she came back with the medicine, Jane observed her family, her heart filling with gratitude that they were all unharmed. After getting Little John and the girls settled and comfortable again, she slipped her arms around Stephen’s waist. Suddenly overwhelmed by the torment of the last few hours, she smothered a sob against his chest.
He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. He ran his hand lovingly over the spot where he had just cut her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Jane said, “but not about the hair. About ever doubting you. About causing you even more heartache. About even a small part of me not forgiving you.” Gazing up at her husband’s eyes, conveying all the tenderness and compassion she felt, she truly and completely forgave him, and herself.
A cry of relief broke from his lips. “I love you,” he whispered.
There would be no more heartache. Only love. She yielded to the sobs that shook her and wept for joy, encircled in his strong arms. She had him back and she would never let go.
Tonight there would be no shadows across her heart. Only the light of love.
With a weak smile and his tired eyes glistening, Stephen presented her with the meat he had fought so hard to keep. “For you,” he said, “always for you.”
They collapsed to the ground together hugging and crying, the salt of their healing tears seasoning the fresh meat.
As he held her against him, an amazing sense of completeness filled him. He was now sure of himself and his rightful place—beside his wife on the Wilderness Trail. A trail that would lead to a lifetime of passion and love.
Epilogue
1797, The Wilderness Road, Kentucky
Little John, who sat in his father John’s dusty lap, asked, “What does the word Kentucky mean Uncle Sam?”
Sam glanced up from the wheel he rested his back against. “It’s an Indian word—Ken-ta-ke—that has more than one meaning. My favorite meaning is Land of Tomorrow.”
“That’s poetic and beautiful,” Catherine said.
“What’s the other meaning?” William and Kelly both asked.
“The Dark and Bloody Ground,” Sam answered.
“I much prefer the first meaning,” Jane declared, shifting the emerald lights of her eyes to Stephen.
“Aye,” Bear agreed.
Stephen gazed at his beloved wife and took her hand in his, caressing the top of it with his thumb. Her warm eyes were full of love. “Indeed,” Stephen agreed. “It will be our land of tomorrow.”
The look Jane gave him was so trusting it sent a shudder through him. He would do everything in his power to keep her trust. As usual, her nearness kindled feelings of fire. He ached to reach over and pull her close, cover her body with kisses, but it was time for them all to get moving again. The animals had rested and watered long enough.
The further into Kentucky they traveled, the more Stephen found it to be a country of extraordinary beauty—lush seemingly endless meadows carpeted abundantly with great patches of clover and tall thick nearly blue grass, incomparable to any they had seen before in color and beauty. Numerous sparkling creeks flowed steadily, often climaxing in picturesque waterfalls. In other areas, clear cool pools of water sweetened by ancient beds of limestone collected around springs shaded by huge sycamores.
Deer or buffalo grazed peacefully nearly everywhere he looked. On their third day into Kentucky, he saw a drove of several hundred buffalo. Martha and Polly delighted in watching the young calves play and skip about like children at play. It was good to see his girls happy.
Despite all the hardships on their journey, Stephen’s heart remained strong. He would find what he had come for. He looked back at his young bull and two heifers, which had faithfully plodded alongside them for more than a thousand miles. They had grown quite a lot on this long journey, closer to the maturity needed to be the foundation of his new herd. He had matured too. He was wiser now, and stronger. And he loved Jane even more.
“Do you think we’ll find what you’re looking for in Boonesborough?” she asked him the next morning, as they all shared breakfast together near a blue-green meadow. “Or will we have to keep going?” She studied his face as she waited for him to answer.
He recognized that Jane was beyond tired of traveling and he wanted to find a home for her soon. He sincerely hoped reaching Boonesborough would be the end of their journey.
“What are you looking for?” Little John asked before Stephen could answer.
All eyes focused on him. All ears waited for his answer. They had come so far together, endured and lost so much. He reached inside his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the pouch of soil he had placed there before they left New Hampshire. The soil from the mountainside that held his father’s grave had been a long time getting from there to here. But the trip had taken much more than time from them.
He gazed down at the pouch of precious soil, remembering the love of the land he learned from their father, as fathers and sons had for generations whose time had already come. He hoped future generations of their family, whose time was yet to come, would honor that past as they learned to love the land too. When it was their turn to live and to love, he would be gone. Their chance for a better future would remain.
Stephen returned the pouch to its pocket and looked at Jane, who stood at his side. He reached for her hand. As much as he loved the land, he loved her so much more and, at long last, she believed that he did.
Their love, tested in tragedy and forged in forgiveness on this difficult journey, emerged stronger and deeper than ever.
In the future, their marriage would be measured by more than just years—it would be measured by living, by laughter, and a dream they shared.
He swallowed the knot rising in his throat. Ready now to answer the boy’s question, he glanced down at Little John. “For God’s own pasture, son, I’m looking for God’s own pasture.”
“Will he share it with us?” Martha asked.
Stephen smiled at his oldest daughter, happier than he had ever been. “Yes. He will. Look at that Kentucky grass,” he marveled. “With good rains, we’ll raise a fat cow on one acre on grass like that. We’ll have a large herd in no time. Right, Jane?” He pulled her into his arms. The nearness of her gave him comfort.
“Right, my husband.”
He cupped her face gently in his hand as he looked into her beautiful eyes—the same dazzling color as the meadow that stretched out before them. “I promise you and the girls a better future here in Kentucky,” Stephen said and then sealed his vow with a tender kiss, a kiss as light and warm as the summer breeze on his face.
He took in a deep breath. The meadow smelled glorious, like Jane’s skin after she’d bathed, intoxicatingly fresh.
And like Jane,
the sight of his future made his heart beat stronger.
THE END
To my son Robert, whose courageous
ancestors inspired this novel.
Thanks for being the
wonderful son and person you are.
Chapter 1
Kentucky, Summer 1797
Captain Sam Wyllie looked ahead, anxious to catch his first glimpse of the remote Fort. His back and his legs ached from months on the trail. Ignoring his fatigue, he kept a keen eye on the surrounding rugged forest and made himself sit up straighter in the saddle. As if complaining, the saddle leather creaked beneath his weight even more than normal. Even the saddle had had enough. It wouldn’t be long now. They were nearly there.
Maybe here, at the edge of a vast wilderness, he could forget. He wanted a new life in a new place, away from the pain of his violent past. Surely, he could find it here—a thousand miles from his New Hampshire home. A place on the edge of the future—Kentucky.
A new world for the brave.
Their small group had been fortunate, at least for the last few days. Boone’s Trace, a branch of the Wilderness Road, leading to the Kentucky River, brought them, at long last, close to Fort Boonesborough. As they passed lush blue-green meadows, rising and falling hills, and ancient verdant forests, they saw no signs of native Indians on the last leg of their long journey. And lately, the weather chose to be mercifully mild. Perhaps God knew they had all endured enough. He and his brothers William, John, and adopted brother Bear, accompanied his youngest brother Stephen and his wife Jane, and their daughters, on the trip here. Along the way, misfortune brought first the widow Catherine and later the young woman Kelly into their group as well.
Sometimes tragedy gives birth to new beginnings.
He pressed his legs against Alex’s flanks, urging the big horse forward. The gelding picked up his trot and Sam led them all to the edge of the settlement.
About a hundred yards from the Fort, he spotted a sizable tent set up under an old oak very close to the road. Six horses stood tied nearby. Parked in the tall weeds was a good-sized wagon holding numerous skins. Probably buffalo hides Sam thought. As they drew closer, he could see that they were indeed fresh buffalo skins. An enormous swarm of flies hovered over the reeking pile. Empty whiskey casks lay strewn about in the mud along with corn cobs, discarded rags, and other trash. He’d seen pigsties that looked neater and smelled less foul.
“Whoever they are, they’re messy fellows,” Sam told Stephen.
“If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I’d say these fellows are closer to the devil,” Stephen agreed.
A man, untying his leather breeches, emerged from the tent. The man looked up and saw Sam and his brothers. Then the hunter shifted bloodshot eyes to Catherine and Jane, each driving one of their two wagon teams. Shockingly, he left his filthy pants untied.
“Ah, what do we have here? Lovely womenfolk arriving in Boonesborough,” he said in a lecherous tone. He gave Catherine, whose wagon was closer to the man, a greasy smile.
The obnoxious man’s grating voice had an edge to it that put Sam’s warrior instinct instantly on alert. He sensed dirt on this man’s soul. And plenty on his body too.
Sam stopped his horse and gave the lewd man a censuring stare through squinted eyes. “Did you wake up ill-mannered this morning or were you born insolent?”
The bulky boorish man, with a very large rounded nose, dark eyes set deep in a puffy face, and tangled black hair, ignored him and the other men. But he continued to eye the women, a mix of lust and envy exposed on his face.
“Keep your ugly eyes off my wife,” Stephen yelled, positioning his horse next to Jane’s wagon.
“You’re the one parading them right in front of my grand home,” the man called back. “And they are a sight to awaken a man’s cock for damn sure.”
Stephen reached for his whip and Bear pulled out his hatchet.
“Stephen, don’t!” Sam ordered in a voice of authority. “Bear, put it away.”
The man’s head swung lazily back toward the tent. “Men, come out and take a gander at these two beauties.”
Five other rough-looking men emerged from the tent, one after the other.
Stephen’s hand remained on the whip, but he didn’t move his horse toward the man and Bear said, “Are ye sure, Captain? It would give me great pleasure to take the man’s head off.”
“I understand, but let’s not begin our time in Kentucky with a killing,” Sam said. “Unless we have no choice,” he amended, looking directly at the foul-mouthed man.
Sam watched warily as the man’s five cronies, all well-armed, casually took seats on whiskey casks, seeming to wait for the show.
“Aren’t those two sweet looking?” the man asked his men. “I like that black-haired one. She’ll be the best-looking woman in Boonesborough.”
“I’m partial to the red-haired one. Look at those fiery green eyes,” another man said.
Although he couldn’t see Jane from his vantage point, Sam could well imagine the scorching glare she was probably leveling on these men.
“Bloody buggers!” Bear hissed the words out between his teeth. “Let me cut the impudent man’s tongue out of his filthy mouth.”
“And look, there’s a young blonde just now poking her head out of that first wagon. I’d sure like to give her a poke,” the biggest man crowed.
Sam wanted to throttle the man. He saw Kelly pale and start to shake. Terror, stark and vivid, flashed in the young woman’s big eyes. Kelly had been about to climb out the front of Catherine’s wagon to join her on the bench, but now stopped frozen with fear.
William bristled and side-stepped his horse next to Kelly. Every muscle of his face spoke defiance. “Bastard,” William hissed at the man. “One more insult to these women and we’ll find some rope to hang the lot of you.”
The leader didn’t move, but his five men all pulled weapons, brandishing pistols and knives.
Kelly gasped, panting in fear.
“Kelly, get back inside the wagon,” Sam instructed. “Don’t worry, we won’t let them hurt you.”
Catherine put her hand on Kelly’s shoulder, urging her back in the wagon. “Get back inside the wagon now, Kelly.”
After Kelly got under cover again, Sam pulled his horse closer to Catherine’s wagon and looked over at his brothers, all four were lined up next to the wagons and facing the six hunters. “Let this bunch of snakes crawl back into their den,” Sam urged, his voice taut with suppressed anger, all the while eyeing the coarse bunch of men. “The best way to not get snake bit is to move away from the snake.”
Sam’s brother John immediately turned his mount toward Boonesborough, his young son Little John riding beside him. His other brothers remained where they were.
“Ignore them, they’re just ill-bred ruffians,” Catherine told them. Then she fixed her gaze straight ahead and composed her features, although Sam could see the suppressed anger in the firm set of her jaw.
Sam agreed with Catherine. When crossed his temper could be almost uncontrollable. But he had trained himself to carefully control his anger, unleashing it only when it served his purpose, usually at the height of battle.
“I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” Sam told Catherine, loud enough for the brutes to hear.
“I didn’t hear anything. There’s nothing that man could say that I would lower myself to hear,” Catherine said, glaring over her shoulder at the vulgar man.
“She doesn’t sound sweet on you just yet Frank,” one of the hunters taunted.
The raucous sounds of the men’s laughter filled the foul-smelling air between them.
Sam gave each one of the men a withering stare, not taking his eyes off them until their laughter stopped. Then he said, “I am patient with stupidity but not when it is combined with poor manners. That just turns men into jackasses.” He turned back to Catherine. “My apologies.”
“No need to apologize. They deserve worse,” Catherine said.
With murky eyes, submerged in a face heavily lined more by alcohol than age, the menacing hunter, who seemed to be the leader of the disagreeable bunch, curled his lip and gave first Sam and then Catherine a look of utter disdain.
The man took a few steps closer to her.
Sam took a firm grip on his long knife.
“Welcome to Boonesborough.” The hunter threw the words at her like rocks.
Sam longed to unleash his blade, but his well-trained heart throttled his anger. He turned his mount and kept the horse at a steady walk leaving the buffalo hunters behind. But with each step his horse took away from the bullies, his fists clenched tighter. He glanced back. Keeping wary eyes on the hunters, his other brothers followed on their horses, flanking the two wagons carrying the women and girls.
Their first encounter in Boonesborough nearly ended in disaster. But they had traveled far to get here and he wasn’t going to let the incident ruin their arrival. For now, he’d forget the crude men.
He trotted his horse out in front of their group.
His heartbeat quickened, as he took in his first glimpses of the Fort and the roughhewn town. The fortress’ blemished walls and bulwarks, blackened by fires and pitted by lead and arrows, called to the warrior in him. Sam knew that the blood of scores of pioneers wounded or killed by the British or Shawnee stained the Fort’s ramparts. Despite its battle scars, like an old soldier, the Fort seemed to stand proudly, having succeeded in keeping Boonesborough’s first settlers alive.
Now, against the fortress’ sturdy fifteen-foot palisade, dozens of settlers completed daily chores or passed the time near lean-tos or crude tents made of hides or oiled cloth, trying to make do in a wilderness highly intolerant of the ill-prepared or underprivileged.
He watched dirty squealing children chase one another in the sunshine between the tents, finding joy among the somber adults. But the blank looks on many of their parents’ faces made him wonder how many wanted to return to where they had come from.
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