Here's a preview of my next book! It is complete, though at the moment the majority is handwritten. Enjoy this glimpse and don't hesitate to give feedback!
The first time I saw him, he was riding past our covered wagon, kicking up a storm of dry dust in his wake. Cheeky thing caught my eye and tipped his hat, winking boldly. I should have realized then this wouldn’t be my last encounter with Ben Bartleby and his gang of misfits. At the time, I was a silly girl. I gave him a dirty look, raised my chin high, and did my best to ignore the laugher and whistles, thinking that’d be the end of it.
There were seven of them, including him. At first, he rode at the head, then swerved in close to the wagon when he saw me and my sister were alone. Pa had gone back to help another family with a broken axle. My whole life likely would’ve gone quite differently had he been with us.
“Where you ladies headed?” the gang leader called over noise of wheels and oxen. I snubbed him. It was my little sister, Maisie, who answered for me, spilling our life story in a heartbeat.
“We’re goin’ to the fort. Papa says army always needs a good doctor. Our mama died a year back, an’ ‘e says we needin’ the ‘clean ladies’ influence’ from the officers’ wives.”
She leaned forward to see past me, holding her floppy, wayward bonnet with one pudgy hand. To Maisie, there was no such thing as strangers. Every soul she met, human, plant, or animal, was her lifelong friend. I thanked God for papa’s good sense in not telling her the real reason we needed the fort’s protection.
“’Specially Tilda’s gotta have lady influence, cuz papa says she acts too much like a boy, Maisie added, giggling madly, before I could stop her. I shoved her back into her seat with a free hand, keeping firm hold of the reins with the other. My cheeks burned from the peals of laughter brought on by her unasked for opinion.
"Hush your mouth, Maisie!" I scolded. I was fifteen, and had recently been made aware by several town boys what they thought of a girl who wore pants and rode like a man. That I had no brothers, and no choice, made little difference. They'd called me names I wasn't about to forget. Of all the gang there that day, though, I recall quite vividly he was the only one who didn't laugh. Instead all he said was,
"I admire a woman what don't get caught up in petty things. Ain't fragile like them China dolls back east. They don't make it long out here."
I knew he was only flirting, but it still didn't help my blush any. I'd never been called more than a girl before and I admit I liked the sound of woman. It gave me an odd feeling in my stomach, like a snake uncoiling across a dune of shifting sand, and the strangest sensation he could read my mind. Sure, it didn't help that he was handsome, a few years older than me. To a girl of fifteen, a boy of eighteen or nineteen was already a man. Despite the dirt and my vain attempts to ignore him, I couldn't help but notice the clear gray eyes, the crow-wing hair curling under his hat, and most of all that confident, self-satisfied smirk that told me he knew exactly what effect he was having. The admiration in Maisie's six year old gaze wasn't helping to deter him any either.
"I ain't a doll," she told him proudly, "I can ride better 'an you prob'ly."
He chuckled at that, turning his full attention to her.
"I'll bet you can."
He would have added more, but a call from one of his boys drew him away. He tipped his hat again, this time in farewell.
"Ladies. Pleasure t'meet you, Maisie. Miss Tilda."
Then he was gone, disappeared like an apparition n a cloud of dust. With him went a great weight off my chest. I breathed easier. I was full determined never to see trace of him again. Men - boys - like him - were nothing but trouble and aggravation. Handsome or not, I could smell it on him from a mile away, among other things. He wasn't too keen on bathing in those days. That hardly seemed to bother my sister. She stared after him long after he'd vanished, wide-eyed with infatuation.
"Someday, I'll marry a man that good-looking," she sighed, grinning stupidly. I shook my head, biting back a word my father would've disapproved of.
"You'll end up carried away by outlaws is what you'll get. Then you'll see they ain't as polite as all that."
My warning fell on deaf ears. She'd already gone back to talking to the team of oxen, as if they could even hear her over all the noise. I forced myself to think of other matters. Still, my mind kept drifting back to that encounter, lingering, no matter how I protested to myself I didn't want to do any such thing.
Pa rejoined us about an hour later, looking sore and tired. He was a good man, my father, a good doctor, gentle in his ways more than any other man I knew. He'd treated my mother like a queen while she still lived. Maisie was their princess. Me - well, he had always wanted a son. Much to his despair, I fulfilled that role to my fullest capabilities. It hadn't bothered him too much when I was small. Now that I was older, and starting to draw more attention, I know he worried.
"How's the wagon?" I asked, though I could guess that wasn't what troubled him. He looked so worried even Maisie had the sense to shut her big mouth about our encounter with the boys. He forced a smile.
"They'll be fine. Little boy broke his arm tumbling out, but he'll live. You see any sign of what we discussed?"
I shook my head, and he relaxed a bit, shoulders dropping. But it was obvious he still wasn't near anywhere at ease. His gaze kept darting wildly around, like the hunted man he was. He was right to be worried. They came for us that night.
I don't know what it was that woke me. The air was uncomfortably still as I swung down from my bed in the wagon. Maisie shifted in her sleep, whimpering. A coyote howled somewhere in the empty darkness that lay beyond our campfire. It struck me then what was wrong.
"Pa?" I called softly, fear crouched in my belly like a starving bear. He was keeping watch a little ways off, and jumped when I dared touch his shoulder. His hands were clenched tight on his old rifle, his face pale and drawn in the dying firelight.
"Pa, where's all the other wagons?"
We'd been traveling with a convoy the past two weeks. I felt naked, exposed, without the protective circle. He shook his head, gritting his teeth in barely contained rage. I get my temper from his side of the family.
"Bastards abandoned us. Paid off, most likely. Hush. Do you see that?"
He pointed to a dot of light apparently floating in thin air some distance off. My heart skipped a beat. Torches. We understood at the same moment.
"Get your sister and go hide by the creek we passed earlier. Take the horse. Go!"
I wanted so badly to argue, to make him come with us. I'd never seen him so afraid. He shoved me hard, forcing me to run back to the wagon. I scooped a still snoring Maisie into my arms, staggering to put her on the horse. No time for saddles. A rifle shot shattered the stillness, waking my sister completely. She began to cry, wailing for Pa, fighting against my hold. More shots answered the first. The echo of men's voices pierced my ears, so loud I thought my head and heart would burst. Somehow, in spite of my fear, I managed to scramble up behind Maisie. Holding on for dear life, I kicked the horse as hard as I could, bending my head in the sudden wind. I was helpless, unable to do anything but pray Pa would be alright. Lord I prayed, like never before. God was on our side. He had to be. He had to bring my papa back safe to us. We were lost without him. He was our home, our protection and provider. What could two little girls do alone on the prairie? He had to come back to us.
I don't recall much more than blurred images after that. There was a searing pain in my back, white hot and blinding. I remember lying face down in the dirt, struggling to breathe, unable to move even when Maisie screamed for help. I couldn't see, but somehow I knew. They'd taken my sister. There's nothing past that in my mind other than darkness. Maybe I lost consciousness. Maybe I just don't want to remember. Time has worked on me in such a way, and I've lived through so much beyond that day, I can't say exactly. Next I know is I was waking up on a hard cot, surrounded by four hard packed mud walls. Every inch of me was in agony. It was all I could do to turn my head and look around.
There were other cots like mine lined up side by side, filling a long, rectangular room. Infirmary. My doctor's daughter brain supplied that when it would do little else. A woman in a wide crinoline skirt bustled about, whispering to the one or two other bed-ridden residents. Nurse. When she saw I was awake, she swooped down on me like a fussy mother hen, clucking much like one, too.
"Poor dear," she kept saying, "Poor dear girl."
I had no time for her pity.
"Where's Pa? Maisie?" I croaked. If she was going to hang around I needed her to be useful. She gave me such a sorrowful look I knew immediately what had happened. A lump closed my throat. I didn't cry. That was far beyond my limited strength.
"We buried your father yesterday morning. Poor dear thing. I'm so sorry. We got to you too late to help him," she cooed, taking my hand and patting it as if that would heal all my ills.
"And Maisie?"
She shook her head, visibly confused.
"There was nobody else. I'm sorry. We did all we could."
That was enough to confirm my worst suspicions. The bastards really had taken my sweet sister with them, for God knew what purpose. I had to get her back. No. I would get her back. It wasn't a 'had to' but a certainty. I'd wreak havoc on the devils and make them pay with every ounce of blood in them and in me if necessary.
"How long - I been out?" I whispered. I'm sure she mistook my expression for one of grief. It wasn't. Anger, pure and cool, soothed my pain far better than any self-pity. I held onto it, kindling the flame until it consumed me entirely, giving me the energy I needed to live long enough to have my revenge. I'd never tasted such sweet fury, though I'd get to know it well in other moments of my life to come.
"A few days, dear. You were shot. You'll need to rest a good while longer.
Like hell I would. Bastards wouldn't geny more of a head start than they already had.
The first time I saw him, he was riding past our covered wagon, kicking up a storm of dry dust in his wake. Cheeky thing caught my eye and tipped his hat, winking boldly. I should have realized then this wouldn’t be my last encounter with Ben Bartleby and his gang of misfits. At the time, I was a silly girl. I gave him a dirty look, raised my chin high, and did my best to ignore the laugher and whistles, thinking that’d be the end of it.
There were seven of them, including him. At first, he rode at the head, then swerved in close to the wagon when he saw me and my sister were alone. Pa had gone back to help another family with a broken axle. My whole life likely would’ve gone quite differently had he been with us.
“Where you ladies headed?” the gang leader called over noise of wheels and oxen. I snubbed him. It was my little sister, Maisie, who answered for me, spilling our life story in a heartbeat.
“We’re goin’ to the fort. Papa says army always needs a good doctor. Our mama died a year back, an’ ‘e says we needin’ the ‘clean ladies’ influence’ from the officers’ wives.”
She leaned forward to see past me, holding her floppy, wayward bonnet with one pudgy hand. To Maisie, there was no such thing as strangers. Every soul she met, human, plant, or animal, was her lifelong friend. I thanked God for papa’s good sense in not telling her the real reason we needed the fort’s protection.
“’Specially Tilda’s gotta have lady influence, cuz papa says she acts too much like a boy, Maisie added, giggling madly, before I could stop her. I shoved her back into her seat with a free hand, keeping firm hold of the reins with the other. My cheeks burned from the peals of laughter brought on by her unasked for opinion.
"Hush your mouth, Maisie!" I scolded. I was fifteen, and had recently been made aware by several town boys what they thought of a girl who wore pants and rode like a man. That I had no brothers, and no choice, made little difference. They'd called me names I wasn't about to forget. Of all the gang there that day, though, I recall quite vividly he was the only one who didn't laugh. Instead all he said was,
"I admire a woman what don't get caught up in petty things. Ain't fragile like them China dolls back east. They don't make it long out here."
I knew he was only flirting, but it still didn't help my blush any. I'd never been called more than a girl before and I admit I liked the sound of woman. It gave me an odd feeling in my stomach, like a snake uncoiling across a dune of shifting sand, and the strangest sensation he could read my mind. Sure, it didn't help that he was handsome, a few years older than me. To a girl of fifteen, a boy of eighteen or nineteen was already a man. Despite the dirt and my vain attempts to ignore him, I couldn't help but notice the clear gray eyes, the crow-wing hair curling under his hat, and most of all that confident, self-satisfied smirk that told me he knew exactly what effect he was having. The admiration in Maisie's six year old gaze wasn't helping to deter him any either.
"I ain't a doll," she told him proudly, "I can ride better 'an you prob'ly."
He chuckled at that, turning his full attention to her.
"I'll bet you can."
He would have added more, but a call from one of his boys drew him away. He tipped his hat again, this time in farewell.
"Ladies. Pleasure t'meet you, Maisie. Miss Tilda."
Then he was gone, disappeared like an apparition n a cloud of dust. With him went a great weight off my chest. I breathed easier. I was full determined never to see trace of him again. Men - boys - like him - were nothing but trouble and aggravation. Handsome or not, I could smell it on him from a mile away, among other things. He wasn't too keen on bathing in those days. That hardly seemed to bother my sister. She stared after him long after he'd vanished, wide-eyed with infatuation.
"Someday, I'll marry a man that good-looking," she sighed, grinning stupidly. I shook my head, biting back a word my father would've disapproved of.
"You'll end up carried away by outlaws is what you'll get. Then you'll see they ain't as polite as all that."
My warning fell on deaf ears. She'd already gone back to talking to the team of oxen, as if they could even hear her over all the noise. I forced myself to think of other matters. Still, my mind kept drifting back to that encounter, lingering, no matter how I protested to myself I didn't want to do any such thing.
Pa rejoined us about an hour later, looking sore and tired. He was a good man, my father, a good doctor, gentle in his ways more than any other man I knew. He'd treated my mother like a queen while she still lived. Maisie was their princess. Me - well, he had always wanted a son. Much to his despair, I fulfilled that role to my fullest capabilities. It hadn't bothered him too much when I was small. Now that I was older, and starting to draw more attention, I know he worried.
"How's the wagon?" I asked, though I could guess that wasn't what troubled him. He looked so worried even Maisie had the sense to shut her big mouth about our encounter with the boys. He forced a smile.
"They'll be fine. Little boy broke his arm tumbling out, but he'll live. You see any sign of what we discussed?"
I shook my head, and he relaxed a bit, shoulders dropping. But it was obvious he still wasn't near anywhere at ease. His gaze kept darting wildly around, like the hunted man he was. He was right to be worried. They came for us that night.
I don't know what it was that woke me. The air was uncomfortably still as I swung down from my bed in the wagon. Maisie shifted in her sleep, whimpering. A coyote howled somewhere in the empty darkness that lay beyond our campfire. It struck me then what was wrong.
"Pa?" I called softly, fear crouched in my belly like a starving bear. He was keeping watch a little ways off, and jumped when I dared touch his shoulder. His hands were clenched tight on his old rifle, his face pale and drawn in the dying firelight.
"Pa, where's all the other wagons?"
We'd been traveling with a convoy the past two weeks. I felt naked, exposed, without the protective circle. He shook his head, gritting his teeth in barely contained rage. I get my temper from his side of the family.
"Bastards abandoned us. Paid off, most likely. Hush. Do you see that?"
He pointed to a dot of light apparently floating in thin air some distance off. My heart skipped a beat. Torches. We understood at the same moment.
"Get your sister and go hide by the creek we passed earlier. Take the horse. Go!"
I wanted so badly to argue, to make him come with us. I'd never seen him so afraid. He shoved me hard, forcing me to run back to the wagon. I scooped a still snoring Maisie into my arms, staggering to put her on the horse. No time for saddles. A rifle shot shattered the stillness, waking my sister completely. She began to cry, wailing for Pa, fighting against my hold. More shots answered the first. The echo of men's voices pierced my ears, so loud I thought my head and heart would burst. Somehow, in spite of my fear, I managed to scramble up behind Maisie. Holding on for dear life, I kicked the horse as hard as I could, bending my head in the sudden wind. I was helpless, unable to do anything but pray Pa would be alright. Lord I prayed, like never before. God was on our side. He had to be. He had to bring my papa back safe to us. We were lost without him. He was our home, our protection and provider. What could two little girls do alone on the prairie? He had to come back to us.
I don't recall much more than blurred images after that. There was a searing pain in my back, white hot and blinding. I remember lying face down in the dirt, struggling to breathe, unable to move even when Maisie screamed for help. I couldn't see, but somehow I knew. They'd taken my sister. There's nothing past that in my mind other than darkness. Maybe I lost consciousness. Maybe I just don't want to remember. Time has worked on me in such a way, and I've lived through so much beyond that day, I can't say exactly. Next I know is I was waking up on a hard cot, surrounded by four hard packed mud walls. Every inch of me was in agony. It was all I could do to turn my head and look around.
There were other cots like mine lined up side by side, filling a long, rectangular room. Infirmary. My doctor's daughter brain supplied that when it would do little else. A woman in a wide crinoline skirt bustled about, whispering to the one or two other bed-ridden residents. Nurse. When she saw I was awake, she swooped down on me like a fussy mother hen, clucking much like one, too.
"Poor dear," she kept saying, "Poor dear girl."
I had no time for her pity.
"Where's Pa? Maisie?" I croaked. If she was going to hang around I needed her to be useful. She gave me such a sorrowful look I knew immediately what had happened. A lump closed my throat. I didn't cry. That was far beyond my limited strength.
"We buried your father yesterday morning. Poor dear thing. I'm so sorry. We got to you too late to help him," she cooed, taking my hand and patting it as if that would heal all my ills.
"And Maisie?"
She shook her head, visibly confused.
"There was nobody else. I'm sorry. We did all we could."
That was enough to confirm my worst suspicions. The bastards really had taken my sweet sister with them, for God knew what purpose. I had to get her back. No. I would get her back. It wasn't a 'had to' but a certainty. I'd wreak havoc on the devils and make them pay with every ounce of blood in them and in me if necessary.
"How long - I been out?" I whispered. I'm sure she mistook my expression for one of grief. It wasn't. Anger, pure and cool, soothed my pain far better than any self-pity. I held onto it, kindling the flame until it consumed me entirely, giving me the energy I needed to live long enough to have my revenge. I'd never tasted such sweet fury, though I'd get to know it well in other moments of my life to come.
"A few days, dear. You were shot. You'll need to rest a good while longer.
Like hell I would. Bastards wouldn't geny more of a head start than they already had.