River Bend Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Barbara Shepherd’s

  River Bend

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Play here by the window where I can see you, son.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  When the massive door opened for him, Johnathan went outside to play and waved at his mother through the glass. Old Bailey shut the door.

  Every time Belle looked out the window, her son was on his knees, playing wagon train with his covered wagons. Daniel, before he left, had carved horses and made a buckboard for him.

  Belle continued to check on her son while embroidering wild roses on a dresser scarf until his screams pierced the air.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  She looked up to see her son in the clutches of a mounted Indian. A terrified Johnathan screamed and struggled as the big brave crushed him to his ribs. Seizing the pistol from her sewing box, Belle raced outside.

  Angry Wolf taunted her, his laugh as cruel as he was ugly. He grunted the words, “You leave Tejas now.”

  From the porch, Belle took aim and prayed aloud. “Dear God, forgive me if I miss the kidnapper and shoot my son.”

  No mother should have to decide such a fate.

  Praise for Barbara Shepherd’s

  River Bend

  The story has won awards in three states. Some comments from the judges:

  “Your research is on point.”

  ~*~

  “Your writing lets me see a movie in my head. A page turner in each new installment.”

  ~*~

  “I’ve read only 2 or 3 books I could not put down. This was one of those. I kept reading to the end.”

  ~*~

  “Good description, dialogue, action, emotions, and senses—well-written throughout. Empathy for Belle because she wants to save her baby and won’t let anything stop her.”

  ~*~

  “Your characters are all well developed. As a reader, I have a ‘picture’ of all of them in my mind. Thus, when something is happening, I have a ‘vision’ of it as well as the reading experience. River Bend is a good read.”

  River Bend

  by

  Barbara Shepherd

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  River Bend

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Barbara A. Shepherd

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1795-3

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1796-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  With love to family and friends

  who encouraged me along the way to publication

  ~*~

  With special thanks to my beta readers

  and members of the Writers of the Purple Page

  and Shawnee Circle critique groups

  Chapter One

  Tejas, Province of Mexico, June 1830

  Gunshots shattered the calm of an everyday river crossing.

  “Ever’body, take cover,” an old man yelled as he ran to crouch behind a barrel of molasses. “And welcome to Texas.”

  One bullet made a whistling sound and then a thud when it embedded itself in the wooden bow of a ferry boat. Feathered arrows zinged by. More shots pierced the air. Belle Strong covered her ears and screamed.

  A massive hand grabbed her shoulder and shoved her face down onto the ferry’s deck. The young woman tried to yell, but no sound came from her lips. She struggled and gasped for breath when a man pressed his huge boot squarely in the middle of her back and pinned her to the planks. She couldn’t see the action around her but heard the shrill sound of gunshots whizzing above her head.

  Other blasts close by provided evidence the men on the ferry continued to return fire. Sensing pain in the right side of her face, Belle realized her cheek rested on a big knot of a rough-sawn cedar plank. She tried to move.

  “Lie still,” a gruff voice commanded. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t scream again. Can’t let those Indians know a white woman’s on board.”

  Feeling a chill inch all the way up her backbone, Belle remembered the stories she had heard about Indians, savages who thought nothing of killing innocent people. After they murdered you, they would cut away your scalp, with hair left to dangle from the bloody skin, then whoop and dance around with it. She had listened to horrible stories where they grabbed tiny babies and threw them around to each other—and forced the mothers to watch.

  No, Belle didn’t have to be told a second time to be quiet. She lay as still as a morning dew. With thoughts of her own unborn child, she was glad she had conceived only three months ago and hoped today’s rough treatment caused no damage. No one on the trip knew she was with child, or they might not have let her travel with them.

  The acrid smell of gun smoke permeated the air and mingled with odors of cornmeal and coffee. A shot pierced the side of a barrel nearby and added the sweet smell of molasses to the mix. Wooden barrels of these treasured commodities lay just inches from Belle’s head. In this position, she could see only the bottom one in the stack.

  To hide her fear, Belle concentrated on the flour barrel nearest her. In her short lifespan, she had used a lot of that basic ingredient. Cooking was not only a necessity to her, it was an event. She loved to cook almost as much as she loved to quilt, especially cooking for a
crowd in South Carolina where she helped prepare food for community events. Today, that seemed very long ago to the new bride and many miles away.

  Muddy water splashed against the sides of the ferry while the activity on board intensified. Men changed positions to get a better shot or to reload their long rifles. Some of the fine spray reached Belle, providing a cool mist which reminded the young woman she was now on the final leg of her journey. This ferry crossed the last river, and she expected to meet Michael on the other shore. Catching her breath, Belle realized her husband should be waiting for her at the landing, exactly from where the Indians were firing.

  “One more fear I have to contend with,” she whispered, her voice weary, and forced herself to stare at the barrels while the shooting continued.

  Belle snapped back to reality. It took her a few seconds to realize why. Silence. She couldn’t remember silence ever sounding so wonderful.

  “They must ’ave run out o’ powder and arrows, Trader Jake,” the old man said. “We couldn’t ’ave skeered ’em off that easy.”

  “No, there’s too many of them,” the man called Trader Jake said while he reloaded his gun. “We better keep a sharp eye out in case they’ve got reinforcements on the way.” He lifted his boot from the middle of Belle’s back.

  “You can get up now, ma’am.” He reached down and offered his hand.

  “How dare you shove me down like that! Who do you think you are?”

  Jake recoiled and pulled back his hand. “I’m the man who saved your stinking hide.”

  “You!”

  “Yeah. Me.”

  Belle rose and brushed splinters from her now-soiled dress and repositioned her hat. Deep green velvet and dyed to match her tailored dress, the hat sported an emerald-green feather sticking out of its crown. So angry with this frontiersman, she hoped her green eyes flashed red. Straightening to her full height, then leaning back to look the big man in the face, she saw eyes so dark gray they resembled chunks of coal in his deeply-tanned face. He smiled.

  Belle wanted to return his smile, but fear and anger were her stronger emotions now. His massive frame blocked the shore where Michael might be, so Belle asked, “Can anyone see if my husband is waiting for the ferry to dock?”

  “We can’t see anyone over there, ma’am,” one of the men said.

  “And we won’t see anyone until morning,” Jake said. “We’re not going to unload my cargo and your belongings in the dark, so we’ll all spend the night together on this boat. It’s safer out here in the middle of the river until we have daylight behind us to check out that bluff.”

  Belle shivered. I’m cold, but I sure don’t want them to think I’m afraid. She doubled up her fist and punched Trader Jake in the stomach as hard as she could.

  “Umph,” Jake mumbled in surprise.

  “That’s for shoving me,” Belle shouted, “and as for stinking, you should talk. You reek.” The smell of bear grease and whiskey was almost more than she could stand. Though he had finely-chiseled features in his rugged face, he was sorely in need of a bath and a haircut.

  That silence surfaced again as the men stood by with their mouths open. They looked like they had never seen a woman stand up to Trader Jake, and he looked like he could be a mean cuss when he got riled. No one should cross a man who stands six-and-a-half feet tall, but Belle was furious. The men held their breaths until Jake burst out laughing.

  “Well, looks like we got a little spitfire here, eh, boys,” he said.

  The men joined in with big guffaws, their laughter sounding like relief. Belle wondered if they would have come to her aid if Trader Jake had hit her back. He swaggered off to the other end of the ferry, his huge frame causing the craft to lean a little.

  Belle watched him go, the long fringe on his buckskin jacket and down the sides of his breeches swaying as he walked, his broad back highlighted by the setting sun. He wore no hat, and his sun-bleached hair reached his shoulders.

  “Hope an Indian gets that scalp someday.” She touched her sore cheek. Opening her reticule, Belle pulled out a mirror and saw dirty smudges on her face and splinters in her cheek. Seething with anger, she spent the last moments of daylight gingerly removing the splinters.

  “I just know I’m going to have a horrid bruise by morning. And it’s his fault,” she whispered.

  When daylight came, the sun spilled over treetops on the east river bank, revealing deep-golden rays to lift the spirits of any who viewed it. And there was that silence again—time for the passengers to leave the safety of the river. Watching the bank, Belle hoped to spot Michael, but she detected no movement at all.

  The captain guided his ferry to the small landing with great caution. No one knew who or what may be lurking behind that stand of trees on the bank. All the men onboard had kept their rifles loaded and at the ready since yesterday evening.

  “Yo.” A loud voice boomed from the bank, startling Belle when it broke the silence. “Who goes?”

  “Parker’s Ferry,” Jake shouted back.

  “Come on in,” a man yelled, emerging from behind a huge, white pine.

  “Seen any Indians?” Jake asked.

  “No, not since last week when I was down here. Looks like they’ve been near this landing, though.”

  Parker’s Ferry swayed, bumping against the tall poles supporting the landing, the planks on the walkway glossy from many boots striding on it.

  Trader Jake swung easily onto the landing and assisted Belle as she disembarked.

  “Yeah, we had a bout with them last evening,” he said. “Glad to know they’ve moved downriver a bit during the night, Owens.” The trader leaned down to contemplate moccasin tracks in the red dirt.

  “What tribe are they, Jake?”

  “Looks like Tonkawa to me.”

  “No, surely can’t be,” Owens said. “What do you think they’re doing this far north?”

  “Beats me. Must have made a vengeance raid or something up this way. It certainly is out of their hunting and fishing range. Just hope they continue back down south now.” Pointing to a magnificent stallion, Jake smiled and said, “I see you brought my favorite.”

  Belle admired the red roan, although she had never seen one so tall. “Maybe what they say is true,” she murmured. “Things really do grow big in Texas.”

  Two other horses stood hobbled nearby.

  As men unloaded her trunks from the ferry and placed them on the hard-packed earth, Belle searched for sign of her new husband. Two weeks after their wedding, Michael had promptly left her behind in South Carolina while he returned to this unsettled land. He sent for her when he received title to his property and built a temporary home for them.

  Now, she waited on him. Releasing an exasperated sigh, she found a large rock to sit on. Rose-red in color, its top had worn smooth.

  Probably from other weary travelers who had to wait. I wonder how many people came before me. She shuddered, considering how few might have lived to tell about it.

  Michael had said there was law and order, and they would be safe. She had not fully believed him then and worried whether he was safe right now. Hoping he hadn’t run into the Indians, the young bride felt cold shivers run up her spine and wondered what could have befallen her new husband.

  The ferry boat untied and shoved off. Belle watched her last mobile link to civilization disappear. She trembled at the finality and willed herself to think of something else to quell tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  Traveling on this deep-red river that some called Blood River, Belle noted the tremendous height of the banks on each side. “Surely somewhere along this river, those sandstone bluffs must diminish to where a horse or a team and wagon could get down to the sandy banks to swim across,” she murmured, wondering who had carved out this opening for the ferry landing.

  Three fellow passengers, all quite burly, struck out southwest on foot. They carried packs on their backs and weapons in their hands, ready for immediate use. One of them shouldered
the rejected molasses barrel. In moments, they disappeared into a thicket.

  After the tariff collector finalized his duties, he walked over to Belle. She watched him, striding toward her with an easy gait, his legs long and muscular, straining against the leather breeches that fit him like a second skin. He removed his hat when he approached her but offered no smile.

  “Mrs. Strong, is it?” He spoke in a smooth, baritone voice.

  “Yes, I am Mrs. Michael Strong.” The name still sounds strange upon my lips.

  “Parker told me your name. I’m Owens, myself. Is someone coming to meet you here?”

  “Yes. My husband sent word he would be here to meet me.”

  Owens frowned.

  “I’m frightened he may have had an encounter with those Indians,” Belle said, “and, oh, where are my manners? I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Owens.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I can’t leave you here out in the open. There’s a little settlement called Horseshoe Bend not far from here. We can take you with us, and maybe he can find you there. At least, you’ll be safe.”

  “I really shouldn’t go. What if my husband comes here and can’t find me?”

  “You don’t have a say,” Jake answered, his voice gruff. “Get ready to move before the Indians come back. That’s all we need, with a woman along. Come on, Owens. Let’s see how much we can load on your pack animal.”

  Belle watched as the two men worked with her trunks. She found Owens to be more of a gentleman than Trader Jake, but she sensed hostility from both of them, maybe because women weren’t supposed to come to Texas.

  After much swearing, they were ready to proceed, the pack horse piled with barrels of flour and coffee and one of her trunks perched high on top. The other trunk was strapped to the back of a big, gray gelding that now also supported Owens’ large frame.

  Jake bowed to Belle, offered his arm in mock chivalry, and escorted her to his waiting horse.

  She winced, realizing no alternative to sharing a steed with the man, and wanted to lash out at Michael. If only he had been here to meet me, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  After Jake swung into the saddle, he reached down for her hand and pulled her up to ride behind him.