A Cheyenne Thanksgiving Read online

  A Cheyenne Thanksgiving

  Other works by Caroline Lee

  The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet

  A Cheyenne Christmas

  A Cheyenne Celebration

  A Cheyenne Thanksgiving

  A Cheyenne Christmas Homecoming

  Where They Belong: A Sweet Cheyenne Christmas Novella

  The Mothers of Sweet Cheyenne: A short story collection

  Everland Ever After

  Little Red (Rojita + Hank)

  Ella (Ella + Ian)

  Beauty (Arabella + Vincenzo)

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  Copyright © 2014, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2014

  This work is made available in e-book format by Amazon Kindle at www.amazon.com

  And in paperback format by CreateSpace at www.createspace.com

  Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page

  Cover: EDHGraphics

  For my children;

  my loves,

  my inspirations and

  my cheerleaders.

  But especially for Jacob,

  who once asked me for a small favor:

  “Mommy, can your next story

  be about a little boy

  with my name, please?”

  CHAPTER ONE

  August, 1882

  They were planning something horrible.

  Tess was packing up the leftovers from dinner when she heard the men she’d been traveling with—men she’d known and trusted for months—planning to do her the deepest harm. They were around the far campfire, and didn’t see her on this side of the wagon. They’d been drinking as well, and probably didn’t realize how loudly they were speaking. Or that she could hear their plans.

  “Whatdya mean ‘hold her down’?”

  “She’s jest a tiny little thing. Ain’t gunna be too hard.” Tess couldn’t hear well enough to know who was speaking. She stood still in shock, straining to hear more, but dreading it.

  “All I’m saying,” that was one of Willis’ favorite phrases, so it had to be the foreman speaking, “is that she’s a fighter.”

  “You think so?” That was Crowley, the new hand. She’d only met him four weeks before, and didn’t know him as well as the others, but wouldn’t have thought he’d be the type to press his attentions on a woman.

  “Yeah, she’s a spitfire alright. It ain’t gunna be easy.”

  “What about you, kid?”

  “No secret I want her.” Stanley was two years younger than her, and Tess had known he was sweet on her. But she never would have thought he’d do something so… so brutal. So terrible. She should have been terrified, but found herself listening with a detached horrified fascination. She was numb, listening to them discuss how they were going to go about raping her. The sack of leftover biscuits hung unheeded from her hands, and she barely heard Jacob singing to himself as he poked holes in the dirt with his favorite stick. All she could do was stand, frozen, and listen with a kind of morbid curiosity, as if they were speaking about the weather.

  Stanley’s voice again, and the sound of liquid in bottle. “What about the boy? She’d shut up fast enough if she thought he was in trouble.”

  “I figure we hit him real hard, and he’d stay out of our way.”

  “Nah, he’s the key to getting her to cooperate.”

  “All I’m saying is, she’ll lie real still if she thinks the kid’s…”

  Tess wasn’t sure if Willis had stopped talking, or if the blood pounding in her ears just drowned him out. Jacob! The sudden fear dragged her gaze towards her son. But he was fine, still oblivious of the threat, happy as only a two-year-old in dirt could be. Still, hearing the men discuss how to ‘handle’ him had snapped her out of her daze.

  Her heart was beating so fast that she was sure she would throw up, and she had to force herself to take deeper breaths. She couldn’t focus on the anger or fear… she had to hear what they were planning. She had to find a way to outwit them.

  “How’s about we jest wait ‘til the boy’s asleep? Hell, wait ‘til she’s asleep too, then just grab her? Tell her we’ll hurt him good if she don’t lie real still?”

  “Yeah, I like that. Pass the whiskey.” They quieted, and Tess squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the world looked the same, but she knew it wasn’t. She couldn’t un-hear what they’d said, and had to do something to ensure they could never, ever hurt Jacob.

  Slowly, deliberately, she finished tying up the biscuits, and then methodically wrapped up the remainder of the fowl in the oilskin. She’d planned to fry both of them up for breakfast tomorrow, but now wasn’t sure she’d be able. Would she still be the cattle drive’s cook in the morning? Or would what they planned to do to her mean she wouldn’t be able to function? Would she still be alive, come the morning?

  She glanced at Jacob again, and winced. He couldn’t afford for her to give up. For his sake, she had to find a way to fight these men. She wasn’t going to let them hurt him to get to her.

  How had she misjudged them so badly? She’d known Willis for almost six months, since he had started coming to the store whenever he was in town. He’d always been friendly and trustworthy. When he found out her trouble, he had offered her a spot on the next drive south, and she didn’t have to deliberate long. Why, even Mrs. Patullie had vouched for him! She was sure she would be safe with him. And Stanley had brought her flowers twice. She’d thought he was sweet!

  But cursing her own poor judgment wasn’t going to save her now. She had to decide what to do. The men had quieted now, but she could still hear the clink of the whiskey bottle and the occasional bursts of laughter. Had they been serious? Were they really planning on raping her, on threatening her baby to get what they wanted from her? Or had it just been idle pratter, fueled by boredom and liquor?

  She couldn’t take the risk of being wrong. She had to treat the threat as a real one, and get her son to safety. But how? They were four days from Fort Fetterman and the dubious civilization it offered, and another week to Cheyenne. The men had waited until they were in the middle of nowhere before voicing their plans. Whether it had been deliberate or not, their isolation worked to their advantage just the same. She hadn’t seen a ranch or homestead in the last three days, and there was no one to whom she could turn for help.

  Her .32 was in the wagon, but hadn’t been fired in months. She knew it was loaded, and knew how to use it, but didn’t much like it. Joshua had insisted she know how to take care of herself, and it had been a useful threat several times since his death, when men had tried to accost her. But she’d always been in a town then, with the trappings of civilization around her. She had a strong feeling that just waving the weapon at the three men wouldn’t work this time. They’d likely laugh at her, and take it from her. Worse, once she introduced guns into the situation, one was more likely to go off… and she just couldn’t risk that with Jacob so close.

  No, she was going to have to outwit them. And without any sort of resources, anything—or anyone—she could threaten them with, her only hope lay in escape. She had to run, to leave the dubious safety of the cook wagon and the fires, and hope for the best. They’d come
after her, but maybe they wouldn’t catch her. And even if they did, maybe they would have lost their violent bent as the whiskey wore off.

  She had one hope: Fort Laramie. She’d studied the maps before they’d left, and knew that it should be due east of their location, based on how far they’d come since Fetterman. The drive was headed south, to the depot in Cheyenne, and if she were to head towards Laramie, the men probably wouldn’t bother to come after her. Driving several hundred head of cattle four days out of the way to pick up a stray cook and her son would be foolish. If she could get away from the drive, and the men, she had a chance to make it to Fort Laramie. She’d be safe there; but more importantly, so would Jacob. Willis, Crowley and Stanley couldn’t hurt him to hurt her.

  Tess was never one to dally. Once she had a plan, she acted. The biscuits and the wrapped meat fit easily into a cloth sack, with enough room for a few essentials. She packed quickly, one eye on Jacob and her ears pricked for further hints from the far campfire. Inside the wagon she lingered briefly over her trunk, knowing the loss of all of the clothing and personal items would cost her dearly. But she was nothing if not practical, and knew that everything inside could be replaced with time and money. She could make money, if she had time. And the only way to buy time was to leave the trunk. Still, she took her mother’s silk scarf and her father’s intricately carved opium pipe, because she couldn’t bear to leave them behind.

  Hanging the sack over one shoulder, and a canteen over the other, she shrugged into her carrying sling. Now that Jacob was steady enough to walk on his own, she rarely had to carry him. But since joining this drive, she’d occasionally taken him for a stroll in the evening, to rock him to sleep. She hoped that if Willis saw her this evening, that’s what he’d assume she was doing.

  Jacob must be sleepy already; he’d rubbed his eyes at some point, and smeared dirt down one cheek. He didn’t protest when she scooped him up and handed him his favorite blankie. As he nestled his head into the hollow of her shoulder, she hoped that he didn’t understand what the beating of her heart meant.

  He was used to the sling, and slid easily into the pouch of material, straddling her stomach and popping one dirty thumb into his mouth. She winced, but was glad that he was quiet. Ready now, she slipped the Smith and Wesson into the back of the sling, and shifted in various directions to make sure it wouldn’t come loose… or worse, blow her backside off.

  Taking a deep breath, Tess set off in a vaguely northerly direction, humming softly to Jacob. As she passed the second campfire—confident that Jacob’s bulk hid the bags of provisions—she saw Crowley glance at her and then nudge Willis. The foreman probably didn’t realize how loud his voice was when he said “Good, we’ll let her put the kid to sleep first…”

  Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, Tess forced herself to keep her gait steady and calm, when all she really wanted to do was clutch her baby and run. But her act must have worked, because the men didn’t say anything else about her.

  She turned eastward as soon as she couldn’t hear the men’s laughter anymore, and gave the cattle a wide berth. Last thing she needed was to accidently step on something important and start up a commotion… or stampede. Once away from the fire she kept the vague glow of sunset at her back until the stars were clear enough to guide her. Baba used to take her away from the city to show her the pictures the stars made, and she knew how to find the one in the north that didn’t move. She used to love the stories of Zhuque, the Vermilion bird of the South and Baihu, the White Tiger of the West, and occupied her mind by telling them to Jacob as he fell asleep against her chest. Once he was sleeping, though, she didn’t have anything to distract her from the desperate situation she’d somehow landed in. Tess wrapped her arms around his bottom for better support, kept the North Star on her left shoulder, and walked.

  And walked…and walked.

  She was strong and there was enough moonlight for her to see where she was going. Still, she managed to stumble on hidden hollows and burrows several times, despite the way the plains seemed to stretch out before her. Soon enough, the small of her back started to ache from carrying Jacob in front of her, and she regretted not slinging him across her back. She took more and more of his weight on her arms instead, and soon was exhausted. Her feet, even in their sturdy boots, began to ache, and then burn, and then faded to a dull ache once more.

  She walked for hours, surely long enough for Willis and the others to have noticed her missing. What did they do when they realized she wasn’t coming back? Were they riding after her right now? She’d surely left a clear trail, but there was nothing she could do about that. She somehow forced herself to walk faster.

  It was probably only an hour before dawn when she stepped in a hole—an animal’s den, probably—and fell. She just couldn’t make herself get up again. Clutching Jacob to her, she slept, utterly spent.

  The two-year-old started to squirm after dawn, and she untangled him from the sling just in time to help him unbutton his trousers. He was hungry, of course, but so was she; they each ate and drank a little before she sat him in the sling across her back—her shoulders and hips would carry most of his weight, rather than her aching back—and they set off again towards the rising sun. Tess hadn’t had enough sleep, but she couldn’t stop. The Laramie River was somewhere over there, and they had to reach it.

  And so she walked, and walked.

  Jacob wanted to get down to walk too, and when she wouldn’t let him—she couldn’t afford the delay—he threw a fit that lasted most of the morning. He didn’t understand the danger they were in, and she didn’t want to try to explain. She worried that his screams would travel back the way they came, and point Willis in their direction, but she couldn’t make him hush. The only time she let him down was to eat or relieve himself, and he eventually tired himself out. She joined him for a brief nap when the sun was high in the sky, but he was awake before she felt refreshed. It was a bad idea to keep sleeping after he woke; Lord knows what kind of trouble an unsupervised, curious two-year-old could get into. She fed him again and set off.

  Tess was hungry, but couldn’t afford to eat much. The stolen food would have to last them both until they reached Fort Laramie, and she estimated at least another day of walking. Would she be able to last that long? She would have to. More than the constant pain in her feet and legs, it was the heat that bothered her. She’d been born in temperate San Francisco, and spent the last years in Montana Territory. The heat of a Wyoming August was fierce. Her mother’s scarf helped tie her hair out of her face, but nothing could be done about the way her shirt stuck to her skin or the cotton skirt seemed to tangle around her knees. She was losing too much liquid from sweat, and had to rely on finding streams to refill her canteen. Soon, she occupied her mind with prayers to find water.

  That journey was the most grueling ordeal she had ever encountered, and it was made worse by Jacob. She was constantly terrified for him, and what would happen to him if she stopped and Willis and the other cowboys caught up. Or if she failed, collapsed and died out here, dooming him as well. His safety—his survival, now—relied on her decisions, and that was frightening. And he was just too young to understand why he couldn’t run around, or why he couldn’t eat more.

  They walked most of the second night, too, and into the next day. The hours blurred together into a haze of dull terror and pain. The way Jacob’s eyes started to grow listless terrified her, and she let him drink the rest of their water. She walked and walked, always eastward, seeing nothing but grass.

  On the second evening, Jacob fell asleep early, and she allowed herself to sink gratefully into a doze. But it was just a nap for him, and the moon wasn’t up too far in the sky before he woke, propelling her mechanically to her feet once more. They walked through the night.

  Her son chattered himself to sleep again sometime well after midnight, but she forced herself to keep walking. She felt like a monster from one of Baba’s stories; cursed to follow a command—walk east!�
��like a clockwork person. All she wanted to do was drink, sleep, and eat… in that order.

  Thank goodness dawn had come by the time she stumbled on the riverbank; otherwise she surely would have tumbled in and drowned in the sluggish flow. As it was, it took all of her energy to refill the canteen, drink greedily, and refill again. One need sated, at least, she loosened Jacob in the sling, and lay down beside him, using the material to shade them both from the sun.

  Right before she fell asleep, she prayed that they’d found the Laramie River. Because she couldn’t take any more of this.

  When Cam MacLeod heard the baby crying, he checked his canteen to make sure he’d had enough water, and wasn’t hallucinating. But nope, there was barely any water left, which meant he had been drinking regularly in the heat. And judging from his sorrel’s restlessness, he smelled the Laramie River up ahead, so they’d both be able to fill their guts again soon.

  So it must have just been his mind playing tricks on him. He’d been thinking about holding little Rose, and those precious little noises she still made, and that’s probably why he thought he’d heard the cry. Despite reining in his horse and listening hard, the wind didn’t bring him any other sounds, so he figured it was just his thoughts of the baby.

  Little Rose had barely filled his palms when he’d first held her at a few weeks old. She’d been born so tiny, but was an angel, and he’d been totally besotted. He’d visited the Barker spread more often in the last months, and while he considered Ash and Nate his friends, no one doubted Rose was the one he was there to see. The two older boys were fun, too, but from the moment the baby had wrapped one small hand around his finger, Cam was lost. Holding her on his lap, seeing her gummy smiles and happy wavings… she filled him with wonder. On his last visit, a week ago, she’d tried to give him a kiss, and he was filled with a sudden and intense burst of longing. Ash must have seen something in his face, because he’d taken his daughter back from Cam, chuckling. “She’ll be bossing you around soon enough, too. You’re a family man.”