Ella, p.1
Ella, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Ella
Prairie Roses Collection – Book 12
COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Nancy Fraser
Copyright for Chapter 1 of Calli ~ Donna Schlachter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: romwriter96@gmail.com
First Edition April 22, 2022
Books From a Romantic’s Heart Publishing
Printed and bound in the United States of America
Cover art by Randi Gammons of Randi Gammons Graphic Design
Branding for series by Chatona Having
Dedication
Chapter One Chapter Two
Chapter Three Chapter Four
Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen
Sneak Peak / CALLI
2022 Prairies Roses Collection Stories
Read All the Prairie Roses Collection Titles
Sweet/Inspirational Romance From Author Nancy Fraser
Coming Soon From Author Nancy Fraser
Meet Author Nancy Fraser
Dedic ation
In memory of our lost Prairie Rose
Angela Lain ~ May she rest in God’s Grace.
Whispering Willows Farm
Maryvale, Missouri
April 16, 1870
Ella Winslow turned toward the kitchen door, the loud crash of wood on wood causing her to startle. Raising her head, she met her brother’s angry glare.
“What the devil are you thinking, Sis?” Connor Miller asked. “You can’t just up and take off with your children. And crossing the country in father’s prized possession, no less? Have you lost your senses?”
“I’ve never understood why everyone claims it’s women who are moody, hysterical even. We can’t hold a candle to a flustered man.” Narrowing her gaze, she gave Connor the same no-nonsense look she often used on her daughter and two sons. “It’s my decision to make. With my husband dead and buried, there’s nothing holding me here. As a matter of fact, given the legacy Peter Winslow left behind, I’d say taking my children away from this town is the right thing to do.”
“So, I’m nothing, am I?” Connor asked angrily.
The hurt she could see in his eyes caused her a small niggle of pain, a moment’s pause.
“Of course, you mean the world to me. You’re my brother, the only family I have left, other than my precious children.”
“Then, why are you leaving?”
Her shoulders heaved on a deep sigh. “You know why. I’m tired of having the good people of Maryvale stare at me with pity, while gossiping about me behind my back. Not to mention the way the children have been teased in the schoolyard.”
“This whole mess will blow over soon enough.”
“I’d like to believe you... that the people I’ve known my entire life will come to their senses and realize I had nothing to do with Peter’s abhorrent business dealings. And, his...” Her voice lowered before trailing off. She couldn’t bear thinking about all the secrets her late husband had harbored. All the evil deeds he’d done.
“He was a liar, a cheat, and—assuming the reports from the marshal’s office are accurate—a cold blooded killer. His actions were his own. You had nothing to do with them.”
“Tell that to the townsfolk who treat me, and my children, like steamy piles of horse dung.”
“Now who’s being hysterical?” Connor teased, his familiar grin firmly back in place.
“Not hysterical, just fed up with being treated so poorly.” She dipped her hand into the pocket of her apron and produced a piece of paper, waving it in the air. “The farm, the last of father’s workshop projects, and this... it’s all that’s left of any value.”
Connor snatched the deed from her grasp and unfolded it, scanning the page for what was likely the hundredth time.
“You don’t even know if this paper is valid. Didn’t you say the land office never responded to your letters?”
“No matter,” she insisted, swishing her hand in the most dismissive way she could manage given her own doubts. “The solicitor who handled the sale of the house and the disposition of claims against Peter’s estate said it’s a legal document. And, thankfully, never part of Peter’s holdings so it couldn’t be used to cover his debts.”
Connor’s voice softened. “You and the children are welcome to stay here with me and Millie.”
Ella reached up and cradled his cheek in the palm of her hand. The threat of tears warmed her eyes. “You’re sweet to offer, but you and your new wife don’t need us hanging around when you’re just starting out. The children and I will be fine.”
Connor shook his head, pulling away from her caress, and dislodging his thick dark curls until they fell across his forehead. “It’s not safe, setting out in a wagon train all alone. Four months—maybe more—on a dusty trail is no way for a lady to travel.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have my children, and at least seven other wagons.”
“What if they’re not all going as far as you are? You may be the only wagon on the Naches Pass Trail. You should wait for a year or two, until the railroad is finished. They plan to reach Olympia and Tacoma by 1872.”
“They haven’t met their previous expectations, what’s to say they’ll make this one?” Ella asked. “I don’t want to risk losing out on my claim once the population starts growing.”
“You can’t live in a wagon.”
“According to our father’s notes, he... they... built a small cabin on the property.”
“I wouldn’t be putting any faith in the jabbering of that old fool.”
She gave Connor’s cheek another pat. “Sometimes, dear brother, faith is all we’ve got. I trust the Lord will protect us on our journey.”
Dinner that evening became a series of questions, not only from her brother and his wife, but also from Ella’s children. She pulled in a breath, drawing strength and a full measure of resolve.
“What’s it like riding in a covered wagon, mama?” Eight-year-old Callie asked.
“From what I can remember based on the short rides your grandpa gave us, it’s quite pleasant. It’s like riding in a very large buckboard or carriage.”
“On neatly raked roads, perhaps,” Connor offered. “The trail going west is not a neat, country road.”
“So, we’ll bounce around?” Jacob, her youngest wondered, his big brown eyes alight with anticipation.
“Until you’ve fallen off your seat,” Thomas, the eldest, told him.
Jacob shot his older brother a gap-toothed grin. “This is gonna be fun.”
Ella spared a glance at Connor. Obviously, her children’s enthusiasm hadn’t quite reached their uncle, as shown by the scowl rearranging his otherwise handsome features.
Callie shifted in her seat, snuggling closer to Ella. “Where will we put our toys?”
“As big as the wagon is, we will have to make sacrifices,” Ella responded. “You’ll be allowed one toy and two books. Along with two changes of clothes, a set of nightclothes, and two of underclothes.”
“That’s not a lot,” Thomas commented, his attention pulled from his latest notebook. “I need room for my latest experiment and more than two books.”
Ella offered her oldest a warm smile. He was so much like his grandfather it made her heart ache. “Once we’re settled in, Uncle Connor can arrange to ship everything else. Taking enough food staples like beans, flour, sugar, and salt to last us five months is going to use up a lot of space. Plus, of course, I have to take my sewing machine and bolts of fabric.”
“What about Wilbur?” Thomas asked. “Will I be able to take my horse?”
Connor reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Wilbur’s a fine horse, to be sure, but not made to haul the wagon. For that, your mother’s taking grandpa’s imported Percherons.”
“Grandpa had those large beasts brought over from France the year before he passed, specifically to pull his custom-made wagon,” Ella explained. “He was very proud of both the wagon he’d built, and of his draft horses.”
Connor leaned close and whispered, “I’m still not convinced you can handle such a huge team of animals, not to mention the wagon.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Like you, I grew up around papa’s many obsessions. I was driving farm wagons before I was Thomas’ age.” She pinched her eyes closed to fight off an oncoming headache. When she opened them again, her brother was staring at her. “And, like you,” she continued, “I helped mama keep this farm, and the last of his business, going while our father made his way west. Without us.”
“At least let me ride with you as far as St. Joseph. I can tie my horse to the back of the wagon and then ride home once you’re on your way.” Taking her hand in his, he added, “Besides, I want to meet the people who’ll be making the journey with you to assure myself they’re an upstanding lot.”
“I’m sure the company arranging the trip is reputable. They’ve been in business since the 1840s. The wagon master’s been with them most of that time. And,” she a
“When do we go, mama?” Jacob asked. “Soon?”
“We’ll leave here in five days,” she confirmed. “We stop in St. Joseph to meet up with the others, and depart from there on the twenty-second. The Good Lord willing, we’ll be in our new home in time for you to start school in the fall.”
Over the course of the next five days, both she and Thomas took turns working with Connor to learn the most efficient way of harnessing the four large Percheron horses. Then, right on schedule, they pulled the oversized, custom-made, wagon out into the yard behind the farmhouse.
Connor attached the canvas cover at the last minute, the enclosure making the huge prairie-schooner all the more impressive. Her father had truly outdone himself with the vessel they’d christened Miller’s Folly.
“It’s time to finish loading everything so we can get on the road,” Ella announced, her words sending all three children scurrying toward their rooms in search of their belongings.
“I’ve loaded the food stores into the bottom bins so you won’t have to lift them down. You can just open the lid and scoop out what you need,” Connor reminded her. “Your sewing supplies are in the smaller bin right above your treadle machine.”
“You’ve anchored it to the side of the wagon?”
“As tight as I could. You’ll still need to be careful because it’s heavy. Make sure you check the ropes every day to see that the knot is taut.”
“I will. I promise.” The very last thing she wanted was to damage the one thing she’d need in order to earn money for her family once they’d reached their new home.
“I’ve stored the horses’ supplemental feed in the bins father built along the outside of the wagon, and placed an extra set of tack in the compartment under the wagon bed next to the water barrels.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with my selling the horses once we’ve reached our destination? After all, they were left to you too.”
Connor slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “I got the farm as my part of our inheritance. You wanted the deed, the wagon, and the horses, so they’re yours. I’d bet you’ll get a pretty penny for them—and the wagon—once you no longer need them anymore.”
“I’d like to hang onto the wagon, if I can,” she admitted. “As a memento of sorts, I suppose.”
“Whatever you decide is fine with me. Heaven knows there’s enough hardwood in that thing to heat a small hearth for months.”
She swatted at his arm. “I’ll not be burning it either, no matter what.”
By half-past eight, with everything loaded, and hugs given to their aunt, Jacob and Callie held out their arms for Connor to boost them into the back of the wagon before he closed and tied down the flaps. Thomas took his seat at the front, next to his mother.
“If it feels like the horses are getting away from you, pull them up as best as you can,” Connor instructed. “Are you sure I can’t ride in the wagon with you?”
“I need to know I can do this myself, without you there to grab the reins away from me.”
Connor’s deep chuckle was his first show of humor in days. “Fine, but I’ll be right behind you.”
“You really don’t have to follow us all the way to St. Joseph,” she reminded him. “It’s only a day’s ride. We’ll be there by nightfall.”
“I’m not doing this for you,” he clarified. “It’s for me. I’d worry myself to an early grave if I let you go off not knowing for sure you could handle the team.”
“Well then, mount up, because I’m pulling out.” Ella snapped the reins, and the horses surged forward. The wagon shuddered, then settled, the big wheels rolling smoothly over the dirt.
U.S. Marshal’s Office
St. Joseph, Missouri
April 20, 1870
Tucker McAlister settled against the wooden railing opposite Willard Davis’ desk. The older man leaned back in his chair and raised his head. His faded brown gaze, gray hair shot through with strands of white, and grizzled beard easily gave away his age. Not to mention the wear and tear thirty-odd years of being a lawman had put on his body.
Tuck held his breath. This was it. Davis was about to announce his retirement, leaving the job of marshal open for the taking. Given Tuck was the deputy with the most experience, he figured he was a shoe-in for the job.
Unfortunately, he’d figured wrong.
“The mayor wasn’t pleased with you arresting his brother-in-law,” Davis said, his narrowed stare aimed in Tuck’s direction. “No doubt with all the high-priced solicitors making their way into town, the whole fiasco is going to be thrown out of court like so much dirty bathwater.”
“He’s guilty as sin, and you know it.”
“I know it, you know it, and—no doubt—the mayor knows it. This isn’t the brother-in-law’s first brush with the law. However, the reprobate claims his wife provoked him.”
“There’s no cause for a man to strike a woman, especially one with child. It’s assault.”
“She’s his wife,” Davis pointed out.
Tuck could feel the flush of anger staining his throat, his face. “That still doesn't give him the right.”
“And the man’s lawyers are claiming you didn’t have the right to give him a black eye and broken wrist.”
“He charged at me when I put myself between him and his missus. I was defending myself when I punched him in the eye. As for his wrist, he did that himself when he swung and missed. I can’t help it if I was standing in front of a brick wall when I ducked.”
Davis snorted a laugh before continuing. “I agree with everything you’ve said, Tuck. You’re my best deputy—the one man I’d trust to take over for me when I retire—and I know you were only protecting the woman.” Heaving a sigh, he added, “However, the mayor’s demanding I fire you. Right here. Right now.”
“No, you can’t do that,” Tuck argued. “I’ll appeal to the state marshal’s office. Surely, they’ll have my back.”
“Their hands are tied. The governor supports the mayor’s request.”
“I was only doing my job, boss.”
“I know, and it’s not fair. I told ‘em so, too.”
“What am I supposed to do? Keeping the law is all I’ve known since I came here eight years ago.”
“You should’ve already been promoted and posted somewhere within the state, Tuck. Hanging around here out of loyalty to an old coot like me hasn’t done you any good.”
“It wasn’t as much loyalty as it was gratitude. You gave an inexperienced, bitter young man a job, a purpose. I owe you everything.”
“What you owe me is to accept the favor I’ve called in from an old friend.”
“A favor? What kind of favor?”
“I got you a job escorting a wagon train headed to Oregon and then on to the Washington Territory. You leave in two day’s time. Once you get to Yakima, you’ll need to send a telegram to Marshal Burt Macklin in Olympia.”
“They’ve got a job for me in Olympia?”
“Not there, but the territory’s expanding rapidly. They need a marshal in Tacoma who can cover the town, and the surrounding county. Macklin will meet you in Tacoma to swear you in. Then, as soon as you’re settled, you’ll be able to hire yourself a deputy or two.”
“You told them about me?” Tuck asked.
“I told Burt you were the best deputy I’ve ever trained, and darned near the best shot I ever saw. That was all he needed to hear.”
“Does he know I’ve been fired?”
Willard Davis shrugged. “Probably not. I didn’t see any reason to bring it up.”
The next day, Tuck met with Clute Trainor, the wagon master who’d be leading the train of wagons going west.
“You got a reliable horse?” Trainor asked.
“Yes, sir. I bought him a year ago. He’s a strong gelding, a bit more than sixteen hands.”
“I expect you’ll want to camp out most nights, but you’re welcome to sleep under the wagon if the weather gets bad. We provide the basics for meals, but would appreciate help with hunting and trapping fresh meat along the way.”
