Stephen’s Bride (13 page)

He and John, and his son, David were getting ready to cut the corn and wheat, which would take all of them, as well as a few hands from town, several days to complete. He hoped once it was all cut and sold he would be able to put a little bit away toward his horse farm. He often thought of his dream, but he was never sorry he’d given the money to Calliope.

They’d come to an unspoken agreement. She made the major decisions that he deferred to, but he handled the everyday operations, including supervising, and hiring the farm hands. They talked over improvements and agreed on most things.

She no longer referred to him as her employee, and all money from the farm went into a bank account with both their names on it. No pay envelope for him.

Just about the time he was quitting for the day Calliope rode into the yard. Again he noted how pale and tired she looked. Her pallid skin emphasized the dark circles under her eyes. He strolled over to the wagon and lifted her off. “Did you have fun in town?”

“I did.” She gave him her famous smirk and wrapped her arm around his waist as they walked to the house. “Oh, I have things in the wagon.” Before he could stop her, she hurried away and removed a basket, two bags and what looked like a thick envelope. Stephen joined her and took the things from her hand, but she held onto the envelope.

The coolness of the house felt good after the heat of the end-of-summer day. “Do you want some tea, or lemonade?” Stephen checked the ice box and took out a pitcher of both.

“Yes, a lemonade sounds wonderful.” She removed her bonnet and wiped her forehead with her hand.

He looked at the envelope that lay in front of her on the table. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing. Well, actually it is something. Where’s my lemonade?”

“Right here, darlin’.” He placed the glass in front of her and poured one for himself and sat across from her. “How was your trip into town?”

“Wonderful.” She took a couple of gulps of her drink. “I, ah, took care of some business while I was in town.” She smiled and drank again.

“You’re being very secretive today.” Then a frightening thought came to him—the dark circles, the tiredness, the pale skin. “You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not sick.”

He relaxed and gulped down half the glass of lemonade.

Calliope sat up straight and picked up the envelope. “I have something in here for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” She opened the envelope and pulled out a paper that she laid on the table in front of him.

He picked it up. “What’s this?”

“I sold the farm.”

“You what!?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out like that, but he was shocked.

“I sold the farm. To the railroad company.” Her eyes grew bright and she covered her mouth and giggled. “You’ll never guess how much they gave me.”

“You sold your farm?” He stared at the paper, acknowledging that Mrs. Calliope McCoy sold Bender Farm to . . . “Why did you sell your farm? You love this place. You never wanted to leave it. Ever. You love it.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “I love you more.”

She withdrew a stack of bills from the envelope. “They paid me nine hundred dollars.”

“Nine hundred dollars?”

“Is that enough for your horse farm?”

All the air left his lungs and he slumped in his chair. “You sold your farm so I could buy a horse farm?”

Her eyes rimmed with tears as she nodded. “Yes.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and stood. Pulling her up, he wrapped her in his arms. “Are you sure this was the right thing to do?”

“Yes. I’m very sure.” She leaned back. “You told me when you were with your brother there was land not far from him that you wanted. Hopefully it’s still available.”

“Calliope, listen to me, honey. More than a horse farm, I want you to be happy.”

She grinned. “Oh, I will be very happy. After all, it will be good for our baby to have cousins nearby.”

His head jerked up. “Baby? Are you . . . did you . . . are we?

“Yes, yes and yes.” She eyed him carefully. “Um, honey. I think you’d better sit down.”

The End

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Turn the page for an excerpt from
Daniel’s Desire
, the story of Stephen’s brother, by Callie Hutton.

Daniel’s Desire

Chapter One

March 1865

Camp Morton, Indianapolis

No sliver of moonlight, no campfires burning. Darkness covered Confederate soldier, Lieutenant Daniel McCoy, like a shroud. His heart pounded, blocking any sound to warn him of danger, of rapid footsteps in pursuit, or the click of metal before a bullet entered his body, a befitting end for a prison escapee. He stood like a statue to calm his racing heart and allow his eyes time to adjust. Not that it had been bright in the dingy hellhole he’d just left. The one where he’d spent the last month digging his way to freedom. A place where smallpox, cholera, and dysentery ran rampant, and men died screaming, or crying the name of a wife or sweetheart.

Deep voices carried over the night air from where two guards met. One sentry struck a flint to light his cigar, revealing their dirty war-battled faces, as they spoke in low tones. As always, the twang of their accent grated on his nerves. He moved deeper into the shadows until the soldiers separated, each going a different direction.

He took a deep breath, and eyed the stables.

Too risky to steal a horse.

After the enemies’ footsteps died away, Daniel’s long strides covered the open area to the safety of the trees. Lack of exercise over the past months had taken a toll on his body, and his lungs burned from the short sprint. He eased behind a large oak, watching, waiting for an alarm to sound.

Silence.

His index finger and thumb rubbed the cool metal of the heavy ring tucked in his pocket. He’d stolen it back from the drunken Union solider while he’d slept. Once again, the heirloom rested where it belonged. With him—a McCoy.

Sweat beaded his forehead, and he took gulps of the damp night air before bending to empty his stomach of the last putrid meal they’d fed him. Truth be told, if it hadn’t been for the local residents of Indianapolis and their compassion toward the Confederate prisoners, providing the necessary food, clothing, and nursing to keep most of the prisoners alive, they’d probably all be dead.

The sentries made another pass, and still no shouts came from within the prison walls. Despite the cold, Lieutenant McCoy wiped sweat from his forehead, then picked his way through the forest surrounding the Union camp. The sound of his panting echoed off the trees as he picked up the pace and stumbled over small roots and animal holes in the dark. He raced to the bank of the White River, waded into the mud and silt, and dove into the icy water. With strong strokes, he swam from the cursed prison.

After nine long months in hell, he breathed free air.

***

Johnson County, Indiana

“Mama, can I get you some tea?”

Rosemarie Wilson eased heavy eyelids open and attempted to smile with dry, cracked lips at her eight-year-old son, Chandler. The frown on his pale face tore at her heart.

“No thank you. Just look after your sister and brother.” She shifted on the bed, struggling to relieve the throbbing pain in her leg. Black dots danced before her eyes at the movement, and her stiff fingers grabbed the worn patchwork quilt to control the dizziness and nausea. She raised her head from the pillow and moved the blanket from her leg. The smell from the festering cut on her right calf, where the axe had sliced, scared her. She’d cleaned it after the accident as best she could, but the jerky, uneven stitches she’d put in herself hadn’t helped the healing.

At least the gash wasn’t deep. If her leg had been only inches closer to the wood when the axe slipped, she might have cut herself right to the bone.

Tears slid down her cheeks as life ebbed from her weary body. She’d used so much of her strength trying to keep the farm going after a band of Confederate soldiers had swooped down a few months ago and taken just about everything they’d owned. Shortly after, she’d laid her husband of nine years to rest in the little plot under the elm tree behind the house. Dead from a bullet wound after one of the soldiers had shot him.

Damn this war, and everything it’s taken from my family!

Another tear slipped from her eye and landed on the thin nightgown covering her shoulder. Chandler’s voice drifted in through the bedroom door, as he spoke to his younger brother and sister in the kitchen. Five-year-old Amelia balked at having leftover oatmeal for lunch. Several more tears joined the first one, and Rosemarie’s heart throbbed so hard it hurt. She closed her eyes against the pain and drifted into the welcoming oblivion of sleep.

Rays from bright sunshine seeped below the wooden shutters on the window, bathing her face, forcing her to turn her head. Her body burned with heat.

If I could just have a drink of water.

She listened for a minute, terrified at the silence that greeted her. Where were her children? “Chandler?” Her voice rasped.

No answer. She raised herself up on one elbow and called louder. Still no answer. Tears of pain and frustration gathered in her eyes.

Dear God, please help me.

Did God even listen to her anymore? She’d prayed all her life, always had faith. Even when her father sold her into marriage, she knelt and prayed for Hans to be a good man. Cold and stern, and not the man she would have chosen for herself, her husband had nevertheless provided well for her and their children. The three beautiful children the good Lord had blessed her with.

Now the only parent they had left lay dying.

***

Daniel spied the small farmhouse from half a mile away. The sun setting behind the clapboard structure bathed it in an ethereal glow. Three children sat on the front porch, huddled together in the cold. The biggest one rose and stared in his direction. Then the child hurried into the house, leaving the two smaller ones outside.

As Daniel moved closer, he expected an adult to appear at the front door, and braced himself to run. All he wanted from the farmer was a drink from his well, and he’d be on his way. After walking the entire morning, he hadn’t passed even one creek to ease his thirst.

The two smaller children turned toward the door as if someone spoke to them. They immediately got up, and holding hands, entered the house. Still no adult ventured out. Did someone stand at the window, ready to shoot? Indeed, in this part of the country he was the enemy, but his dirty and worn Confederate uniform wouldn’t be recognized from a distance, so he pressed on.

Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his pocket to rub the ring. He needed to move further south before the Union soldiers found him. One escaped Rebel would be inconsequential, but since he’d been designated one of the camp medics after a Union doctor had been sent to the fields, they would come after him. He’d hated abandoning his fellow Confederates, but very few would survive, and there wasn’t much he could have done for them, except pray as they died.

Fatigue washed over him as he approached the porch. If the owner approved, Daniel could quench his thirst, then crawl into the farmer’s barn and sleep for the night. Maybe even get a bucket of water to wash his body. His clothes were still stiff from the mud in the river.

The moment he set his foot on the bottom step, the distinct sound of a gun being readied caught his attention. Within seconds, a young boy stepped out the door, the business end of the shotgun pointed straight at Daniel’s chest.

“Git off my property.” The child’s pale face resembled new snow. His ragged pants had been patched, but not washed in a while. Lines normally found on an adult’s face bracketed either side of his young mouth.

Daniel raised both hands, palms facing the boy. “Son, I only want to get a drink of water from your well. Can you ask your pa to step out?”

“Git off, I said.” The shotgun wavered, and the boy’s eyes narrowed.

Daniel backed away, keeping his hands in the air. He didn’t want the kid to accidently shoot him out of fear. “Can you tell me how far to the next town, then?”

“You a Reb?” The boy’s voice trembled.

“Yes, but I’m not here to hurt you or your family. I just want some water, and I’ll be on my way.” He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them in front of him, palms out. “Is your pa home?”

Tears sprung to the child’s eyes as he shook his head.

“Your ma?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Daniel sighed. “I would like permission for a drink of water from your well, and maybe to sleep in your barn for the night.”

The two smaller children he’d spotted earlier came out the door, and stood behind the older boy. The little girl, with long brown curls cascading down her back, took her fingers out of her tiny rosebud mouth and spoke. “Our ma is bad sick. Chan thinks she’s gonna die.”

“Quiet down, Amelia, and go back into the house. And take Jace with you.” The boy who Daniel assumed was Chan jerked his head in the direction of the door, his face flushed.

Amelia focused her huge blue eyes on Daniel. “Can you help our ma, mister?”

“Amelia!” Chan lowered the gun, and faced his sister. “I said git back into the house.”

“Son, look at me.” Daniel spoke in a low voice, and didn’t move from his spot. The boy continued to grip the gun, but no longer pointed the thing at him.

“What?” He wiped tears on his sleeve, then raised the gun back up.

“Where’s your pa?”

Amelia spoke up again, moving to the edge of the porch. “Our pa is behind the house.”

He blew out a sigh of relief. “Can you fetch him for me?”