The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) Read online

  “She’s so stubborn,” he said aloud before he’d realized.

  “Yes, she is.” Grandpa Walt took the bags and loaded them on his horse. “But it’s held her in good stead all these years, and she’ll fight through whatever she must to come out ahead once more.” He turned to Mr. Bollen and shook his hand. “Thank you kindly for the information. Looks like we have more searching to do.”

  9

  Desperate Friend

  Zillia stirred a large pot of oatmeal, fighting the urge to look out the kitchen window to the front road every few minutes. Watching’s not going to bring them back faster.

  Margo banged her spoon on the table, baby gurgles turning into impatient cries.

  “Silly girl.” Zillia crumbled a bit of Johnny cake on the plate in front of her. “I’m not going to let you starve.”

  Patsy emerged from the tiny side room with a giant borrowed apron tied around her waist and her hair already braided, pulled around the side.

  Zillia smiled. Mama taught me how to braid my hair like that when I was little. “Did you sleep well, Patsy?”

  “I sure did. It was nice not to have fleas in the bed, or Pearl waking me up. She doesn’t mean to, but she kicks in her sleep.” The little girl looked around. “Can I help with something?”

  “Sure, thank you. Can you tell Orrie it’s time for breakfast? I want to get all the chores done in haste since we need to be in town by ten o’clock this morning. Our church is doing a Christmas play, and today is the last practice. Can you believe Friday is Christmas? Only two days away!”

  “Aw, Christmas,” Patsy yawned and rubbed her eyes. “We never had Christmas. ‘Cept sometimes ma bought an orange for us all to share.” She frowned. “I think once.”

  Zillia’s spoon froze over the oatmeal pot. Never had Christmas? Even in the hardest years, when it was just her and Orrie, Grandpa Walt and Grandma Louise had always opened their home and shared the tree, holiday treats, and lights. She couldn’t fathom Christmas being considered a normal day.

  “This year, Patsy, you shall have a Christmas,” she promised.

  Patsy looked down at the floor. “It sounds nice. But what about Wade and little Pearl?”

  Zillia put down the spoon and sank down to one knee to look the little girl in the eye. “We don’t know where to find your aunt right now. Do you know how to get to her house?”

  Patsy shook her head, and a tear dripped down to her chin. “It was in the night, and we only went there once.”

  Zillia handed her a handkerchief. “Your Granny can probably tell us where to find them, but we have to wait until she gets better. So it might be after December 25th. But I promise they will have a Christmas too, even if it’s a little bit late. All right?”

  Patsy nodded and wiped her eyes. “Sounds good to me.”

  “It’s going to be lovely, don’t you worry,” said Zillia. “Now go wake up Orrie.”

  Zillia was tempted to stop by the Eckharts’ farm before she headed to town, but by the time she had everyone dressed and the chores finished it was too late. Grandma Louise would have sent word if there was any news from Wylder. She loaded the three children in the wagon. It was nice to have Patsy along to make sure Margo stayed still on the trip. Orrie would have tried his best, but she didn’t think he was quite old enough to hold the baby the whole way. Usually Wylder or Grandma Louise came along on such trips.

  I’ll stop at the post office after the practice to see if they’ve received another telegraph.

  All the children were lined up on the church steps waiting for them, along with Mrs. Fowler.

  “Good morning, Zillia.” Mrs. Fowler adjusted her straw bonnet, which was piled high with fake cherries and blossoms. She held the church door open for the children to troop inside. “And Patsy, how are you today? Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Patsy gave her a shy smile. “How is Granny?”

  “I went by to see her this morning. She was sleeping.”

  Patsy clasped her thin fingers together and rested her chin on them. “She sleeps all the time. I hope she gets better soon.”

  Zillia caught Mrs. Fowler’s eye. The preacher’s wife frowned and gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m going outside, Zillia. I’ll be right back.”

  She must not be doing so well Even if she gets better, Patsy can’t possibly go back to that horrible house. “Patsy, would you like to be a part of the play?” Zillia fought to keep the worry from her voice. “We could always use a shepherdess.”

  “What’s a shepherdess?”

  Zillia walked over to the pew where all the costumes had been laid out in preparation for the day. Children milled around, pulling out wings and halos made from beaten tin.

  “A shepherdess is a girl shepherd. The shepherds must have been very special to God, because he sent an angel to them to tell about the Christ child’s birth first.”

  “Oh yes, I remember this story. Sometimes our neighbor took us to church.” Patsy eyed the row of costumes. “What do they wear?”

  “Here’s a robe.” Zillia handed Patsy a burlap garment with ragged holes for the sleeves. “You fasten it around your waist with a sash, like this.” She turned the little girl around and tied a bow. “There.”

  Patsy smoothed the burlap and nodded. “I’ll be the best shepherdess I can be.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Zillia.

  “You can come with me, Patsy,” Orrie said with a grin. “I know all about being a shepherd.”

  “But do you know how to be a shepherdess?” Patsy squinted at him.

  “Come on.” Orrie started towards the stage, and she trotted after him, the burlap rustling as she moved.

  “Mrs. Eckhart, I need help again.” Katie turned to the side, displaying a jagged tear in her Mary robe.

  “Oh goodness. Hang on, I’ll try to find a sewing kit.”

  Colored light washed over the pews from the ornate stained glass windows. Zillia began to rummage through the piles of props and materials arranged on the front pew.

  Mrs. Fowler came through the front door and down the center aisle. “I’ll take care of that.” She put a hand on Zillia’s shoulder. Her face was drawn and white, though a hint of a smile quirked in the corner of her mouth. “Zillia, hurry outside, dear,” she said in a low voice.

  Zillia’s heart fell to the bottom of her stomach. In the hustle and bustle of preparing for rehearsal, she’d managed to forget about her missing friend for a short while. She picked up Margo, who had been playing with scraps of fabric, and rushed outside.

  “Zillia, thank goodness!” Soonie stood at the door. Her hair swung above her shoulders, and strands were plastered to her forehead. The cheap calico dress she wore was torn to tatters. Despite these factors, her delicate features and dark brown eyes conveyed a beauty that couldn’t be hidden by such trifles.

  Zillia stepped back and surveyed her friend. “You’re all muddy, and where is your shawl? It’s too cold to be out dressed like this.” She peered over her friend’s shoulder. “And where is your husband?”

  Tears flowed down Soonie’s face. “Oh, Zillia, he was shot by some terrible men for no reason. They took our horses and left him to bleed to death. I had to leave him behind and come for help. He’s not as bad as he was yesterday but I still couldn’t let him walk that far.”

  “Soonie, how terrible! Of course we’ll come.” Zillia paused. “But Wylder went after you yesterday. I wonder why he didn’t find you?”

  “We had to get away from the road. I left him a sign, but he must not have seen it because of the rain.”

  Mrs. Fowler stepped out from the doorway where she’d been listening. “Zillia, Pastor Fowler’s right next door in the church study. If you will go tell him the situation, I’m sure he can take our buggy and a few other men to help. The buggy will get there faster than a heavy wagon, especially with the road still muddy in places. And Soonie, of course you’ll have to go so they can find where your husband is staying.”

&
nbsp; Zillia handed Margo to Mrs. Fowler. “Would you be willing to care for the children so I can go too?”

  “Of course. We’ll finish up with rehearsal and I’ll take them to my house. They can play with my children.” Mrs. Fowler patted Soonie’s hand. “Don’t worry. God is with your husband right now. All will be well.”

  Soonie wiped her tears and nodded. “We need to hurry,” she said in a wispy voice.

  Zillia moved towards the study and Soonie followed with wavering steps. Zillia turned and studied her face. “Have you had anything to eat?”

  “Not much,” her friend replied. “I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not.” Zillia went over to the buckboard and rummaged around in the back until she found the lunch pail. Pulling out a hunk of Johnny cake and a piece of salt pork, she handed them to Soonie. “Here, we brought plenty. Sit down and eat this while I go talk to Pastor Fowler.”

  Her friend nodded and sank back down on the porch. “We need to take something for Lone Warrior too.”

  “All right, there’s plenty in this lunch pail. I’m sure Mrs. Fowler can find something for the children. I’ll be right back.”

  Pastor Fowler didn’t answer when she rapped on the study door, so she pushed it open. Two feet cased in worn leather shoes were propped up on the desk, and gentle snores came from under a newspaper.

  Zillia tapped the man on his shoulder. “Pastor, please wake up, we need you.”

  The newspaper rustled, and Pastor Fowler pulled it from his face with thin fingers. “Zillia, hello.” His feet thudded on the floor. “Sorry about that, my daughter’s new baby is keeping us up at all hours.” He chuckled. “Cute little rascal.”

  His eyebrows drew down over his beak-like nose as Zillia explained about Soonie and Lone Warrior. He jumped to his feet and pulled on a tweed jacket, which had been draped over a chair. “We have some old blankets in the poor barrel. Let’s gather those and see if we can find the doctor. If he’s not there, we’ll try to get a few other men to follow on horseback. The buggy only seats five, three if someone has to lie down in the back.”

  “And we must send someone to tell Grandma Louise. She’s been worried sick.”

  Pastor Fowler’s forehead creased. “I’ll send my grandson. He’s thirteen and can ride like the wind. He knows where the Eckharts live.”

  Zillia ran back out to Soonie. “Come on, we’ll get the buggy hitched up, and Mr. Fowler’s going over to the clinic to find the doctor.”

  Hope sprang into Soonie’s eyes. “We have a clinic here now?”

  “Yes, when old Doctor Peterson retired last year, we got a younger doctor from Pennsylvania. He tore down the old office and built a new clinic. He stitched up Wylder last year when he cut his hand on a fence.”

  Soonie closed her eyes. “Wylder . . . I wish he was here. Hopefully he will find us.”

  10

  Reunion

  Wylder pulled his coat closer and rubbed his hands together before gathering the reins again. Each breath sent a small cloud into the air. The rain had passed, thank goodness for that, but a thick fog wafted through the trees like clumps of cotton.

  “It’s going to be tough to search for anything in this,” said the sheriff.

  Grandpa Walt took a swig from his canteen. “Yup. But we know God Almighty loves Soonie more than Wylder and I do. He’s got her in His hands, and He will lead us to her. I feel, right here,” he thumped his chest with a gloved hand, “That we’ll find her today. I just feel it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” murmured Wylder. And I hope she’s safe. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think the words “not dead.”

  They passed through Del Valle, scouring the sides of the road and knocking on the doors of the few homes they encountered.

  One door was answered by a burly man who wore nothing but long john underwear. “Howdy?”

  “Hello.” Wylder held out a family photograph taken when Soonie was thirteen, the one where she’d insisted, as usual, on wearing her buckskin skirt. “Have you seen this girl? She’s older now, and she was traveling with her husband.”

  The man squinted at the photograph. “Looks like an Injun to me. What’d she do? She wanted by the law?” He nodded over Wylder’s shoulder at the sheriff.

  Wylder worked to steady his breathing. I will not hurt this man over words. It’s not worth it.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “No sir, the woman in the picture is a beloved family member of these folks and we believe she’s in danger. We’re trying to find her.”

  The man spat on the ground. “One less Injun makes the world a better place, if ya ask me. Now if that’s all you’re after, I’m going back to bed. This weather’s foul.”

  He slammed the door in their faces.

  A muscle twitched in the sheriff’s cheek. “So much hate in folks’ hearts.”

  “He doesn’t even know Soonie. Doesn’t know the good she’s done or the love she has for people.” Wylder shook his head. “Makes no sense.”

  “We should have sent someone to fetch them from Austin,” said Grandpa Walt. “But your Uncle Isak always came by himself, and he never mentioned any dangerous encounters.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to worry us,” said Wylder.

  The party of three rode on in silence for several miles, with only the calls of the cardinals to keep up their spirits. The fog lifted in bits, and they were soon able to carry on their search in better visibility.

  But we might have already missed them. Wylder tried to keep his hands from trembling. He ached to reach out, to tear something to pieces. The closer they came to Bastrop, the more this anger built in his heart. Finally, he halted. “Grandpa, I have to stop for a moment. I’ll catch up to you.”

  Grandpa Walt’s eyebrows drew together. He sighed. “I understand, Boy. Go on, then. Sheriff n’ I will wait here for you.”

  Wylder tied his horse to a bush and stomped off a few yards down the road. He’d battled with his anger since he was a little boy and always found chopping wood as a healthy way to let it out. Don’t have a woodpile or an axe. He picked up a good-sized limb and smashed it into a tree, over and over again, until it was splintered and scattered on the forest floor. He threw down the remains of the branch and picked up another. The movements felt good, and his rage dwindled down into a smoldering flame.

  As he reached for his fourth limb he saw it, a flicker of color, fluttering at the very edge of his vision. He blinked. There it was again. He took a few steps, hardly daring to breath. A tattered ribbon of blue, his sister’s favorite color. Above, a crude carving of a bird, beak stretched and pointing north.

  “Grandpa!” he yelled. “Sheriff! I found something!”

  ###

  The buggy jostled through the mud, making Soonie’s head ache. She tried resting it against the wall, but it only felt worse.

  Zillia leaned over and peered into her face. “Are you all right? Poor dear. As soon as we get home, I’ll fix you a hot supper.”

  Soonie gave a tiny smile. “I’d rather have a bath first.” A pang of guilt stabbed her heart. I can’t believe I’m thinking such a thing, with Lone Warrior hungry and waiting for me. She closed her eyes. Soon it will be all over, and he’ll be with the doctor. And this time, we have people to help us. I’m so close.

  Zillia squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.”

  Mr. Rawlings, a blacksmith, had agreed to come. He sat by Pastor Fowler in the driving seat of the buggy.

  Soonie peered out the window, and then rapped on the dividing wall. The carriage came to a halt and Pastor Fowler came around to the door. “Yes?”

  “I left the mark on the tree right around here.” Soonie stumbled out of the carriage and glanced through the oaks, cedars and elms that lined the road. “Yes, I remember this twisted cedar tree. Here it is.” She pointed to the tattered ribbon. “We need to go this way. There’s a bit of a road.”

  Pastor Fowler frowned. “I’m not sure if the buggy will mak
e it all the way through. We’ll try to get as far as possible.”

  Soonie swiveled to face the pastor “The cabin’s close. It won’t be a long way to carry him, if we have to. I made a travois.”

  “You did?” A new respect crept into Mr. Rawlings voice.

  Soonie nodded and took off in the direction of the bird’s beak pointed.

  An indention in the soft mud caught her attention. Fresh hoof prints. Two--three horses heading towards the cabin. Could someone have seen the smoke over the trees? If they hurt him--She clenched her fists.

  “We need to hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “It looks like someone’s already there!”

  “I’m coming,” said Pastor Fowler, as he attempted to steer the horses around the worst of the mud puddles. “It’s no use. We’re going to have to leave the buggy here.” He wound the reins around a tree trunk, and then reached out and pulled a shotgun from behind the seat.

  Zillia got out of the buggy and put her hand on Soonie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Maybe it was someone to help.”

  Soonie couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice. “Or it’s the owner of the cabin. Or Zillia, what if it’s the same men who hurt him in the first place?” She took off in a sprint through the trees. Mud spattered her clothes, and branches tore at her exposed skin. She gave them no heed.

  Horses nickered as she entered the clearing. Her heart sank as she saw her own saddlebag draped over the back of a chestnut. Something familiar about the horses--but she took no time to mull over where she had seen them. She drew her knife from her belt and crept up the steps to the cabin.

  Low male voices came from inside. And then a laugh. A laugh! How dare they? She held the knife high and swung open the door.

  “Soonie, you made it back.” Wylder rose and held out his hand. “You can put that down. We’re here now.”

  “Oh.” The knife clattered to the floor and she sank against the door. Grandpa Walt and the sheriff chuckled.