Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) Page 3

  “Why would he be willing to risk his life?” Catherine asked, as she removed the pistol from her cloak’s pocket and sat it down as well.

  Sam helped her remove the cloak. He wasn’t surprised that she had come outside prepared to help if necessary. She’d come a long way from the pampered young woman who left Boston two years ago.

  “The three came here to get me to sell my land in New Hampshire, including Wyllie Mountain. They want my land for some New York company. The owner must have offered them a substantial bonus if they could convince me to sell.”

  “Why wouldn’t the man you shot accept that you were unwilling to sell?”

  “Greed is often the fuel for rash behavior,” Sam answered, trying to bridle the anger in his voice. “And some men aren’t capable of asking. They’re only capable of demanding. They won’t take no for an answer.”

  Catherine sighed heavily and glanced behind her when both the housekeeper and cook approached.

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.

  “Everything is under control,” Sam answered more calmly than he felt. “Please bring Mrs. Wyllie some tea.”

  “I will, and I’ll bring some for young John too, with lots of sugar,” she answered with a kind-hearted smile. “And perhaps a wee bit of warm pie,” she added, winking at his son. “Some hot coffee for you Mr. Wyllie?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wrigley. That would be most appreciated,” he answered.

  The two women turned toward the kitchen and Sam took his usual chair near the hearth. “Where is that midwife?” he asked Catherine, glancing out the window. He realized he sounded impatient and worried. But it couldn’t be helped, he was.

  “Sam, she’ll be here soon. There’s nothing to worry about. Truly,” Catherine said.

  “Would you tell me if there was?”

  “Of course. You’re my husband and the baby’s father. You will know everything I know.”

  “What are you worried about?” Little John asked, walking straight up to Sam and looking directly in his face.

  Sam hadn’t meant to speak worriedly in front of the astute boy and instantly regretted it. “Oh Little John, it’s the curse of new fathers to worry overly much about the birth of their children. Catherine will be fine.”

  “My mother wasn’t.”

  Sam’s heart nearly cracked at the sadness in Little John’s voice and he swallowed the bitter truth in the child’s words.

  “Little John, come here,” Catherine coaxed, reaching out to their son. “Listen carefully to me. We must not worry needlessly. God wants us to trust Him to protect us. Will you promise to do something for me?”

  “Yes Ma.”

  “Every time you start to worry, I want you to stop and pray a little prayer. It doesn’t have to be long. Just a few words will do.”

  She peered over at Sam and he realized she was speaking to him too.

  “What should I say?” Little John asked.

  “Tell Him what you feel and ask for His help,” she answered.

  “That sounds easy,” Little John said.

  “It is. That’s the beauty of it,” she said. “He made it easy for us because He loves us.”

  “How does he hear us?” Little John asked.

  “The words of our prayers are written in our hearts, and God can read our hearts,” Catherine explained, “just as easily as we can read a book—or a letter from a loved one.” She pointed to the letter still lying on the floor.

  Little John giggled and reached for the letter. He carefully folded it, put it back in its envelope, and stuffed it into the pocket of his breeches.

  Mrs. Wrigley brought the refreshments in and Little John’s face instantly brightened at the sight of the slice of apple pie.

  “Thank you,” Little John said when she handed the plate to him. He hurriedly sat down, cross-legged in front of Catherine.

  “My thanks Mrs. Wrigley,” Catherine said. “Please tell Miss Henk that I will need her help shortly with the Christmas decorations.”

  “I’ll let her know,” the cook replied.

  “Can I…help…too?” Little John asked, chewing a mouthful of pie.

  “Catherine, are you sure you should be taking on decorating?” Sam asked. “Why don’t we just decorate the house with the smiles of family this year?”

  Sam realized that his wife grew up in Boston society enjoying Christmases filled with elaborate decorations, huge celebrations, festive balls, and the very best of food and drinks. He hoped she would not miss all of that too much. Perhaps he should make time to help her with the decorations himself.

  She sat her teacup back in its saucer. “I have to do something around here. I can’t tend my flower and vegetable gardens in the winter and now that we have such capable help, I’m left with little to do. And I love Christmas!”

  “Fair enough, but you must promise you won’t overtax yourself. And let me know if you need any more evergreens. I’ll get them for you. I don’t want you out it the forest alone again until after the baby is born.” He could hardly believe it when he saw her bring an armful of evergreens into the house earlier.

  After she nodded her agreement, he took a few sips of coffee and then headed outside to speak with his men. Before he did, he grabbed a large shovel from a nearby shed and scooped up the blood-tainted snow. The sight of it brought back unwelcome recollections of winter snows turned red with the blood of both the British and his comrades. With bile rising in his throat, he tossed the defiled snow into the nearby woods.

  If only he could as easily toss away the haunting war memories that stained his mind.

  “That guy you shot didn’t have enough sense to know if he was scratching his pocket watch or winding his ass,” Garvin told Sam when he walked up. “I can’t believe he was dumb enough to draw a gun on you.”

  “I agree. It was not smart,” Sam agreed. “I would rather have spilled words than blood.”

  “He didn’t seem to be hearing too well,” Garvin said.

  “I need you and the men to be extra watchful. I want a guard posted and guarding the house until further notice.”

  “Even at night?” Garvin asked.

  “Especially at night.”

  “I’ll see to it, Mr. Wyllie. Do you think those two will bring more trouble?”

  “I do.” Men like that will risk going too far to find out how far they can go. I have a feeling they won’t take no for an answer,” Sam said.

  Garvin nodded in agreement, then snugged his worn leather tricorne down a little tighter on his head and buttoned his coat against the chill. With every day that passed, the man was proving to Sam that he was a dependable and skilled farm manager.

  As they reached a large horse pen, Sam asked, “How’s my new gelding shaping up?” His usual horse, Alex, was a handsome buckskin with a black mane and tail. He preferred using Alex in most situations because of his experience, but he occasionally enjoyed the challenge of riding a young horse.

  “He’s only one man broke, but he’s broke,” Garvin answered. “We’ll start alternating who rides him this week.”

  “Now let’s get to working with those new colts. It may take all winter, but I want them ready to sell by spring.”

  “Yes Sir,” Garvin said. “I’ll put Harry on it all this week. He’s the best trainer I have. Next week we’ll show you what progress he’s made.”

  Sam nodded and pointed to the east side of the house. “I want a good supply of oak firewood stacked right over there.” Sam pointed to the east side of his home. “And another stack piled high, under the porch next to the back door for the cook’s use. I have a feeling it’s going to be a fierce winter.”

  “I agree. The old-timers say you can tell if a winter is to be mild, average, or severe by the thick black hairs on each end of a woolly worm depending on how close they come to reaching the worm’s brown middle. I saw one yesterday and the black on each end nearly met in the middle.”

  “Then you’d best make a third pile near
the barn to keep you and the other men warm. And stack some uncut logs nearby that we could cut up later if need be. Better to have too much than not enough. We can always use the logs for fencing in the spring.”

  “I’ll get James and Matthew both working on it right away.”

  “No, just James, he has the stronger arm. I want Mathew on the first shift of guard duty. Be sure he’s well-armed.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Thank you Garvin.”

  While Garvin spoke to the farm hands, Sam studied the now graying sky as clouds streamed in forcing the sun’s rays to back away as though they didn’t belong there. The clouds’ dark bottoms and lighter tops, made them appear bottom-heavy. They looked like they might just fall right out of the sky. We’ll get another snow tonight, he thought.

  Sam trudged through the snow, thankfully only about three inches deep, until he reached the horse pens holding the young colts.

  As Garvin and Harry cut a couple young studs out of the herd and got them saddled, Sam leaned over the split-rail fence and scrutinized the rest of the horses. Before he came to Kentucky, he used to barely tolerate horses, using them as he would any other useful tool. But ever since Stephen’s stallion George died to save Sam’s life, his opinion of horses changed dramatically. Now, he understood how loyal and devoted they could be to a man—and even a man’s family.

  And since he started raising horses himself, he truly loved taking part in helping a young horse learn to become the reliable friend it could be for someone on the frontier. Here horses weren’t just a tool—they were a trusted ally for both man and woman.

  Even though Stephen’s primary interest was raising cattle, his youngest brother was the best in the family when it came to training horses. Stephen had managed to teach Sam quite a lot, especially during the time he and Bear lived with him while they all built Stephen and Jane’s home. When their muscles got tired of sawing and hammering, they would all take a break and work with the horses for a while. It was then that Sam decided he wanted to make a living raising and selling horses, while Stephen focused on raising beef cattle.

  If Catherine was feeling well, and the babe was healthy, he planned to enter the upcoming horse race at Harrodsburg on January 5, the culmination of the Twelfth Day celebrations. The residents of Harrodsburg at Fort Harrod also thought the Twelfth Night a good occasion for balls, parties, and weddings. With a new babe, it was unlikely she would be able to attend the ball this year.

  Perhaps next year they could both attend. Sam nodded and smiled at the thought. Catherine would love that. She gave up so much by living here. He looked forward to giving her the chance to enjoy the festivities and dancing again. At their own wedding celebration, she’d nearly danced him into the ground. It was the first time in his life that he’d enjoyed dancing. How could he not enjoy it with such a stunning woman in his arms?

  For a moment, he pondered which of his young horses would give him the best chance of winning. The winner would receive a sizeable purse. Though for him, it was more a matter of pride to own the winning horse. He didn’t need the money. He was now a wealthy man thanks to Catherine’s considerable fortune.

  He grinned remembering how shocked he'd been after they married and Catherine told him she was a rich heiress. And that wasn’t the only surprise the beautiful widow had in store for him on their honeymoon. Among other things, he’d learned that she had lost her first baby and the doctor told her she might never conceive again. The doctor had been wrong.

  His forehead wrinkled as he suddenly wondered if the doctor meant she should never conceive again. If that was true, then…

  As if on cue, the midwife, Mrs. Smith, chose that moment to ride up in her wagon.

  “Mrs. Smith! I thought you would never get here,” he called out from the horse pen, before hurrying over to her as she pulled her wagon team in front on the house.

  “And why, pray tell, would you be thinking a thing like that, Mr. Wyllie? ‘Tis only a few miles to my hamlet and I told you I would be here this afternoon. And here I am!” The gray-haired middle aged woman threw her hands into the air as if she were tossing away his foolishness.

  “I…”

  “Mr. Wyllie, I am as reliable as the sun rising every morning. Now, help me down and take me to your wife. I need to get home ‘fore it starts to snow.”

  Sam started to say something to the perturbing woman, but changed his mind. He helped her out of the wagon, marched up the steps to the porch, opened the door for her, and gallantly bid her enter with a sweep of his arm.

  Raising her chin, she gave him a grudging nod and swept past him. As he helped her out of her heavy coat, she glanced up at him. “You don’t need to join us, Mr. Wyllie. This is women’s business—not men’s.”

  Sam ignored her, removed his woolen coat, and went in search of Catherine. He found her sitting on the floor of the spare room, weaving red and green ribbons through a lengthy pine garland stretched across her lap. Her long raven hair hung down her back, nearly touching the floor. Even sitting on the floor, she somehow appeared regal. As it so often did, her beauty astounded him. Would he ever grow accustomed to how lovely his wife was? Even after two years, he still couldn’t believe a woman like Catherine could fall in love with a crusty warrior like him. He was only forty-one, but he sometimes felt that he’d lived twice that long.

  Miss Henk sat on the floor too, tying clusters of red berries around the ribbon, and adhering both to the garland. And Little John only briefly glanced up from his duty—cutting out paper stars with Catherine’s small sewing scissors. Some of his creations looked more like clouds than stars, including the one he proudly held up for Sam to see.

  “Look Pa. I’m making stars!”

  “Oh hello, Mrs. Smith,” Catherine said, looking up.

  “A woman in your delicate condition should not be sitting on the floor!” the midwife scolded, her face stern.

  “I am perfectly fine, Mrs. Smith,” Catherine insisted.

  “She was feeling poorly earlier. That damn pain in her side again,” Sam snapped. “This time, I hope you can do something about it.”

  With an exasperated look on her face, the mid-wife turned to him. “Sir, if you would be so kind as to go tend to your horses again, I will send Miss Henk to get you when your wife and I are through.”

  Sam stared at the woman, incredulous. “I will do no such thing.”

  “Sam, please,” Catherine interjected. “Let Mrs. Smith and I have a few moments of privacy. I am perfectly fine.”

  Sam gazed into his wife’s blue eyes. Was she being completely honest with him?

  Catherine peered up at him expectantly. The color on her face was not as pale as it appeared earlier. Perhaps she was fine. Not wanting to worry Little John any more, he decided to do as they asked. “Well then, let me help you rise.” He placed a hand under each of her shoulders and gently eased her up.

  Catherine fluffed out her gown’s skirt, straightened her apron, and smiled up at him. Then she affectionately smoothed the hair on the side of his head, her gorgeous eyes gazing at him lovingly.

  Despite his worries, he smiled back, wrapped his arms around his wife and squeezed her affectionately.

  The mid-wife stood by impatiently, eyes glaring and her hands on her hips.

  When the woman started to speak, he stopped her with a raised hand. He gave Catherine a tender unhurried kiss, needing the reassurance of her lips, and then forced himself to release her. “Come on Little John, I’ll show you our new foal.” He shot a look back at Mrs. Smith and said, “Garvin and I helped the mare deliver it early this morning.”

  Mrs. Smith stiffened her spine and shook her head as he and Little John hurried away.

  “Men. You can’t do without ‘em, but it sure would make life a lot easier if we could,” Mrs. Smith told her.

  Catherine chuckled. “Forgive him. He means well. Miss Henk, I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’ll keep working here,” the housekeeper replied.


  “Shall we go into my bedroom?” Catherine asked.

  The mid-wife nodded and followed her inside the room and Catherine shut the door behind her. It was the first time the woman had come inside her bedroom.

  “Your home and quarters are the most exquisite I’ve ever seen,” the mid-wife said, mouth agape.

  “Thank you. It took me more than a year to get all the furnishings here from Boston. I used to live there and the dealer who furnished my first home helped with all the selections and shipping arrangements. Not surprisingly, considering the distance and conveyance by both boat and wagons, quite a few pieces arrived damaged or scratched, but Sam patiently fixed them all or took them to Fort Logan for repair. Please have a seat.”

  Mrs. Smith took a seat on a cushioned chair near the room’s small hearth. “I can’t believe you enjoy such luxury here in the middle of the wilderness. These richly colored rugs must help to keep your room warm. And I see you already have the babe’s cradle. That’s good.”

  “Indeed, I ordered it and the cradle’s linens the same week I learned I was with child. It took a few months, but they finally got here.” Catherine ambled over, gently rocked the cradle, and then ran her hand across the soft white baby blanket.

  “Now tell me about this ache. Where is it exactly? And how often do you feel it?”

  Catherine stood across from the mid-wife and pointed to the exact spot on her right side just beneath her right breast. “It’s becoming more frequent of late. At first it was once or twice a week. Now it’s once or twice a day.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Smith stood, placed a hand on Catherine’s stomach, and felt both sides. “Will ye remove your gown and lie down for me please?”

  Catherine kicked off her shoes, slid the gown off, and sat down on the side of the large bed. As soon as she did, she winced. “There it is again.”

  The mid-wife laid a gentle hand on the spot.

  Catherine’s mind crowded with worry when the woman’s forehead creased.

  “Lie down for me and tell me if it eases when you lean back.”

  Catherine pressed her shoulders against the soft mattress, tilted her head back, and stretched her abdomen. “Yes, yes it does. Why is that?”