Retribution

By Fran Shaff

The Tender Mysteries Series continues with the most compelling novel yet, Retribution, Book Three.

April, 1896: Susan Willet vows to capture and boil in oil the man who’s kidnapped her sister Bonnie.

Sheriff Sam Feist realizes Susan is a passionate woman. Her feisty verve is one of the things he finds most attractive about her. However, when she insists on going after a ruthless kidnapper, he’s got no choice but to tell her to stay out of lawmen’s business.

Susan promptly ignores the handsome sheriff’s advice. No one is going to stop her from going after Bonnie. Neither will anyone hinder her from keeping her pledge to seek retribution for her sister’s kidnapping.
As Susan and Sam separately pursue a dastardly abductor, they cross paths. Tensions soar, and hearts break when dangerous liaisons put lives in peril and lead to a violent confrontation which changes Susan’s life forever.

Excerpt:

Setup: Sam and Susan have crossed paths as they’ve been searching separately for Bonnie and her kidnapper.

The first rays of light broke over the horizon when he saw Miss Susan, who was thirty feet away, lifting a heavy saddle onto her horse. She was totally oblivious to his presence.

He stood as silent as a post watching her, remembering how she’d felt in his arms the night before--soft, warm, round and precious.

He was a cad for not rushing to aid her with her weighty burden, but he couldn’t help himself. He was mesmerized by everything about her, and all he wanted to do was look at her.

He could hardly believe the little slip of a woman with fiery red hair and strong, determined brown eyes could enrapture him the way she did. He’d barely given a second thought to any woman he’d met since he’d turned sixteen, fifteen years before, and now he thought about Miss Susan more than he should, much more than he should.

She cinched up her saddle as the arrival of dawn progressed. Early beams of light met her face, and, suddenly, she was awash with a heavenly beauty.

Sam’s breath caught somewhere between his nose and his lungs.

If he lived to be two or three hundred years old, he’d never see anything more beautiful than Miss Susan was at that moment.

She bent to double check her work, straightened up and stroked the horse’s mane before she caught sight of Sam.

The Romance Studio says: “Ms. Shaff is a gifted writer that always delivers in her stories.”

CataRomance says: “Ms. Shaff has touched me like no other author has in a very long time.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fran Shaff
• Release date: Nov 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301356423

Fran Shaff

Just about all of us want to get away from the demands of everyday life from time to time. Unfortunately, most of us don’t have the luxury of being able to take off to some new, exciting place whenever we feel the urge--unless we like to read.A book can take us anywhere we’d like to go. For readers who enjoy living vicariously in pastimes or in modern times Fran Shaff provides a great escape in the more than twenty novels she’s published over the years. Fran’s fictional books have won awards from readers, reviewers and fellow authors, and her non-fiction has been acknowledged in this way too.Love is the main focus of all of Fran’s books, whether they’re contemporary or historical, serious or humorous, written for adults or teens. Love between men and women and among friends and families is featured in her books because there is nothing most of us want more than to love and be loved. Happy endings abound, but the journey to reaching that joyful final moment is always a rocky struggle, just the way we want our fiction (even though we could do without the drama in our real lives).Look for new, full-length historical romance novels from Fran Shaff in the ten-book “Tender Mysteries Series,” available now and debuting throughout 2013 and 2014. The first novel in the series “Resurrected” is available as a free download at most Internet bookstores. The series is available in single e-book and two-pack paperback formats.Reviewers say:“Ms. Shaff is a gifted writer that always delivers in her stories.” (The Romance Studio)“I have discovered a great new author in Fran Shaff. She writes with depth and understanding and digs deep into the emotional lives of her characters bringing the reader with her all the way.” (A Romance Review)“Fran Shaff is a wonderful writer whose prose speak with passion from her heart.” (Fallen Angel Reviews)“Ms. Shaff writes about characters that warm your heart and give you a good chuckle as well.” (Coffee Time Romance)

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RETRIBUTION

Book Three of the Tender Mysteries Series

By Fran Shaff

Inspirational Historical Romance

For Everyone Who Loves a Little Mystery in their Love Stories

Retribution: Book Three of the Tender Mysteries Series By Fran Shaff

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Fran Shaff

Characters, names and incidents used in this story are products of the imagination of the author and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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 permission in writing from the author.

Discover Fran Shaff books and short stories available in e-format, paperback and hardcover by visiting her website at: http://sites.google.com/site/fshaff

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Dedication

For the unsung heroic women who, over the last several hundred years, helped build the United States of America into a strong, caring country. Thank you for your dedication and sacrifice.

RETRIBUTION

MOLLY’S PROLOGUE

The Longfellow Wagon Train Encampment on the Wishek River in Nebraska

The dawn of May 6, 1888 was shrouded in darkness. Black thunder clouds frightened early rays of light from the sky. Rain pelted trees, horses, and the Conestoga rigs in our encampment.

I, Molly McKee Longfellow, a red-headed, fair-skinned Irish woman, thirty-four years of age on that day, was in the Green family wagon which had been placed on high ground fifty yards from the Wishek River. Because Elizabeth and Liza Green, twelve and eleven-year-old angels, ailed with severe colds, their kind father Mitchell had parked the wagon away from the travelers camped near the river to avoid spreading their infections.

On that dreadful May morning, while I was soothing Liza’s forehead with a cool cloth, I heard screams filling the air. The deafening shrieks mingled with the roar of thunder and the stabbing strikes of the ominous rain against the stretched canvas above and around us. I moved deftly to the rear of the wagon and peered through an opening. When lightning flashed I saw figures of all sizes, some moving quickly, some paralyzed on their feet, almost all of them looking up river.

As I followed their gazes, a roar filled my ears, growing, growing, until it overtook the sickening sounds of the screams. Seconds later, lightning flashed, and I saw a flush of water descending down the Wishek. I estimated the giant wave to be twelve to fifteen feet high, though I learned much later others farther upstream believed it was only half that.

Whatever the height and breadth of the deadly liquid wall, the evil murderer took what it willed, its power seeming to equal the potency of the Almighty Himself.

Fathers, mothers, siblings struggled to fight the wrath of the river. I watched helplessly as some gave their lives to save others.

I wanted desperately to spring from my perch and find my three precious daughters, but my duties forbade me from doing so. I had two cherished charges who were too sick to help themselves if the water rose to the height of the wagon we occupied. I owed my allegiance to these girls and my trust to my husband who, I prayed, would take our daughters to safety.

Twice I threw up the coffee and biscuits I’d swallowed an hour earlier. The sight and sounds of all that transpired during my confinement in the wagon made me terribly sick.

An hour after I’d first peered into the storm from the back of the wagon, the rain softened and the sky brightened. It was then I realized the results of the river’s rampage.

We’d been a train of nine Conestoga wagons and six families, eleven parenting adults and eighteen children, some of age and some not. When we took an audit of survivors, as soon as the conditions allowed us to do so, I learned I was the only remaining adult, alone on the deluged prairie of eastern Nebraska with nine little girls ranging in age from eleven to fifteen years.

My dear husband James Robert Longfellow, a forty-five-year-old dark-haired, fair-skinned, handsome Englishman, who’d been with me since our wedding day on December 31, 1871 and all three of my baby girls, Mary Elizabeth, aged thirteen, Joanna, aged nine, and my beloved daughter Annie, aged eight, had been eaten alive by the furious flood.

A sadder, more horrifying day I had never known.

After the flood, we quickly located and buried as many bodies as we could find. Unfortunately, we didn’t find all of our loved ones. We did, however, encounter another child, a parentless, brown-skinned little Indian girl. We took her in and unanimously adopted her as one of our own. We called her Angie as we believed God sent the little angel to soothe us during our time of sorrow. I gave her my surname and my birthday, December 25. We estimated Angie’s age to be eight years at the time we found her, and we have kept her chronology of years according to that estimate ever since.

The nine child survivors whom I also adopted included the Willet girls, Deborah, aged fifteen, Susan, aged fourteen, and the twins Bonnie and Becky, aged eleven. Mary Phillips, who was fourteen at the time of the flood, and Amy McKittrick, who was fifteen, joined the Green sisters, Liza and Elizabeth, and Flossie Marquez, aged thirteen, as part of my new family.

Throughout the years since the flood, my ten espoused daughters have been a great blessing to me. They’ve given me the courage I’ve needed to provide them with home and hearth, with love and patience, with food and encouragement.

All of them have reached womanhood as I write this in the year 1900. I have earnestly beseeched God for one favor besides granting good health to all of my girls--I have asked often that each and every one of them find men who will cherish them and give them bountiful family lives. I have believed my girls would be able to find relief from the horrible suffering they’ve endured due to their familial losses only by creating progeny with dearly beloved husbands.

I’ve always had faith that nothing is impossible with God, but I have often wondered, would He hear me and answer my prayers according to my will, or did He have plans of His own which countered mine?

By the time Susan had reached twenty-two years of age in February, 1896, I was beginning to wonder if she had any interest in getting married and having children. She’d always been feisty and strong, and I believe her gregarious personality put off a good many men who otherwise might have been quite attracted to her. No woman in Hope had lovelier red hair or prettier brown eyes than Susan did. I’d thought when she was younger I’d have a difficult time trying to keep suitors from proposing to her every other week, due to her exceptional beauty--but I was wrong.

It wasn’t until the spring after Susan turned twenty-two that I noticed Sheriff Sam Feist had begun to show a romantic interest in her, though I’m certain she was completely unaware of his attraction to her at that time. I was taken aback by my discovery because Susan and the sheriff had seemed to be perpetually at odds with each other.

I had no doubt Susan wasn’t about to reciprocate Sam Feist’s feelings, even though I believed Mr. Feist, with his great strength and consideration, might just be the match she needed to find peace and happiness and the kind of family life I hoped she’d someday have.

Shortly after spring began in 1896 Susan found herself unexpectedly entangled with Sheriff Feist, but it wasn’t at all under the desirable circumstances I would have wished for. In fact, the event which brought Susan and Sam into close propinquity was a tragic one indeed.

Chapter One

Hope, Nebraska. April, 1896

It’s hard to believe I can feel as bad as I do on an evening as warm and pretty as this one, Susan told Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sighed and brushed a cottonwood seed from the skirt of her navy blue dress, the one with the white lace on the collar. "It’s lovely here in Town Square in springtime when the daffodils are in bloom. It seems like nothing in the world could be wrong when everything around us looks so right."

Susan twisted a black button on her red dress. I should forget about my problems and just enjoy sitting here with you, she said as she watched a bee flit from one yellow blossom to another.

"It probably would be better for your constitution if you tried to relax, but, on the other hand, you do have every right to be upset. You’ve been working for Exquisite Woolens a long time, and losing your job has got to be devastating."

Susan bolted to her feet. For four and a half years, my entire adult life, I’ve been hunched over a sewing machine working my fingers into a constant state of pain for the Angerhoffers! And how do they repay me? They take away my job so they can give it to Mesmore Angerhoffer’s niece!

It isn’t the least bit fair, Sue, Elizabeth said, rising and placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder, but what was Mr. Angerhoffer supposed to do? His niece lost her husband, and she has five children to support. She desperately needs a job.

"But why did she have to take my job?" Susan asked, placing a hand over her heart.

Elizabeth squeezed Susan’s shoulder. "You know very well that, if you set emotions aside and look from a purely practical viewpoint, of all the women working in the factory, you would suffer the least drastically by relinquishing your job. You’ll always have Molly and the rest of us to take care of you, no matter what happens. Most of the other women at the Woolens, if they lost their job, would lose everything. Many of them have children who’d be hurt too."

Susan patted the warm hand on her shoulder. I thank God for all of you each and every day, and, when I remove emotion from what happened as you suggest, and I look at things the way Mr. Angerhoffer explained them, I understand why he did what he did.

Elizabeth drew back her hand, brushed a strand of jet black hair from her tawny complexion and gave Susan a warm smile. I’m sure you do, she said, a tender look filling her dark blue eyes.

But I don’t want to be magnanimous now, Susan said. I want to be emotional! It stinks that I lost my job, and I’m going to whine and complain about it for at least a week or until I find another job, whichever comes first.

Elizabeth chuckled just a little. I suppose you’re entitled to wallow in self pity for a short while.

Susan couldn’t help but smile. Elizabeth’s usual disposition was quite sullen. She’d been wretchedly blue ever since the flood, nearly eight years ago. It was amusing and downright heartwarming to hear her sad sister chuckle, even if the joyous event came right in the middle of Susan’s self pity rant.

Maybe I am entitled to be miserable for a while, considering what’s happened, and maybe I’m not, she said, sitting on the bench again. She fingered the black piping on the skirt of her deep red dress. One way or the other, though, I promise I won’t really pout and carry on for a whole week.

Elizabeth joined her on the bench. I should say you won’t, she said confidently. If I know you, and I know you well indeed, you’ll leave the house by seven in the morning to go looking for a new job.

Susan gave her a sweet smile. Yes, dear Elizabeth, you know me well, but what you don’t know is that I already stopped by the bank to make an appointment to see someone tomorrow about a job.

"You went to see Steven at Nebraska National? Is he going to help you get a job?"

"Heavens no! I want no part of nepotism. I won’t ask my brother-in-law to give me a job. I intend to find work on my own, and I’m going to start by talking to Mr. Potter at the Merchant’s Bank. I’ve heard they have an opening for a housekeeper."

A housekeeper? But you hate cleaning, Elizabeth said.

"I don’t relish the idea of cleaning anything, but a housekeeping job in the bank could be the start of something more promising. Once I’m a part of the Merchant’s workforce, I’ll find a way to maneuver myself into something better, maybe even into a job like Steven has as a loan officer."

Oh, my, you do have wondrous ambitions, don’t you?

Susan lifted her chin. I certainly do. And you just wait until Mr. Angerhoffer wants to borrow some money from my bank for his business when I’m the loan officer, she said, grinding her teeth. I can’t wait to turn him down and tell him I’ve gone ahead and lent all of the bank’s money to my family members. She put her hands on her hips. Then we’ll see just how much he likes being on the receiving end of negative nepotism.

Sue! You wouldn’t really do that, would you?

She leaned against the back of the bench and folded her arms. I might…

A moment of silence passed between them while Susan stirred in the juices of resentment and revenge as she dreamed of retribution.

She had no doubt she’d find another job, but her employment with Exquisite Woolens had been wonderful. Her co-workers were like a second family--including Mr. Angerhoffer and the three sons he’d employed to supervise the various shifts of seamstresses. In addition, Exquisite Woolens was always closed on Sundays and holidays, giving employees ample time to spend with their families. And, most important of all, the Woolens paid their women top dollar. Most of them earned more than half the salary of the male employees. Where would she ever find wages that good? The bank paid their women only about a third of what they paid their men, and the housekeepers they hired were notoriously underpaid.

She sighed and decided she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself any longer, even if she was entitled to do so. She’d always hated whiners, and she wasn’t about to become one of them, at least not for more than a few minutes--or, maybe, a few hours.

Where do you suppose Bonnie is? Susan asked.

I expected her to arrive more than thirty minutes ago.

Since she usually finishes her work at the school before I finish at the factory I thought she’d be here before I was.

So did I. I came directly from the farm to spend a little time with her before you arrived so I could catch up with her on the goings on in her first grade class. She always has cheery stories to share.

I love listening to her stories.

I find her tales particularly refreshing after I’ve spent the day butchering and dressing chickens. Elizabeth had worked on the Eversons’ farm almost as long as Susan had worked at the woolens factory.

Bonnie surely does enjoy sharing stories about her pupils. One time she told me a story about a little boy who-- Susan abruptly stopped talking. Oh, for heaven’s sake!

What is it? Elizabeth asked.

Not what, Susan said, but who?

Elizabeth looked in the direction Susan was looking. It’s Sam Feist, and he seems to be coming this way.

He’s looking directly at us, Susan said, watching Sheriff Feist move toward them. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than stare at us? The big, gruff lawman had always rubbed her the wrong way.

Why shouldn’t he look at us? Or, rather, why shouldn’t he look at you? You know how lovely you look in your dark red dress. The black collar sets off your auburn hair and lively brown eyes quite beautifully. I can’t think of one man in town who wouldn’t stare at you in that dress.

Elizabeth was smiling when Susan looked at her.

The man’s a nuisance, I tell you, and I don’t like him one bit. She glanced in the sheriff’s direction and found he was still staring at them--more specifically, he was staring at her.

Her stomach began to stir, as it so often did when she was anywhere near Sheriff Feist. She supposed some women might find him attractive. He was certainly ruggedly handsome, broad, lean, and as solid as an oak tree. His full, thick, dark-blond hair was long enough to cover his ears. His eyes rivaled the summer sky when it came to determining whether the skies or his eyes were bluer.

Yes, some women might find him attractive, but not Susan. Charming as he could be when he wanted to be, she found him strangely irritating and much too serious.

Hello, Sheriff Feist, Elizabeth said in her gentle voice when he drew within ten feet of them.

Hello, Miss Green, he said, closing the space between them. Miss Willet. He removed his horseman’s hat and dipped his head in the direction of each of them.

Good evening, Sheriff, Susan said, grudgingly acknowledging him.

He gazed most seriously at her. I’m afraid…I have…some bad news.

The grave look in his stunning blue eyes made the muscles in Susan’s belly tighten. What’s happened? she asked, rising to her feet.

He sternly looked from Susan to Elizabeth and at Susan once more. Miss Willet, I’m very sorry. He fingered the hat he held over his abdomen. I’m afraid it appears Miss Bonnie Willet has been kidnapped.

Susan’s knees buckled.

Sam and Elizabeth reached for her arms and helped her return to her seat on the bench.

Bonnie’s been kidnapped? Elizabeth asked fretfully. How? By whom? When?

Sam hunched down, bringing himself to the eye level of the ladies. Albert Anderson came to my office and reported the kidnapping about thirty minutes ago.

Albert Anderson? Elizabeth said. Do you mean the retarded teenage boy who’s always wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve?

He nodded decisively. Yes.

But he’s retarded! Susan said. Surely, you can’t take the word of a retarded boy when it comes to something as serious as a kidnapping. Just what did he tell you? she asked in a biting tone.

Sam stood and looked down at the two of them. He told me he saw Miss Bonnie, clutching a book in her hand, being hauled away from the school, thrown over the shoulder of a big man, a fellow about the same height as I am. The brute plopped her into a buggy, set her book aside and bound her wrists to the handrail of the wooden seated contraption which was drawn by two horses. He said…ah…he reported Miss Bonnie was screaming and crying for help, though no one but Albert was around to answer her pleas. The beastly monster, according to Albert, had long, curly brown hair and sharp green eyes. The boy figured him to be a young fellow, maybe just a little older than Miss Bonnie.

Albert was close enough to see the man’s eyes? Elizabeth asked, placing her hand over her heart.

Yes, miss, he was. Being as fond of Miss Bonnie as he is, he tried to stop the bastard from carrying her off, but you know how slightly built the boy is. He was obviously no match for the animal who took her.

My, my, Elizabeth sighed. If Albert could describe the buggy and the villain as completely as you’ve repeated, Sheriff, his account of what happened must be an accurate one.

Oh, my word, Susan cried, our sweet Bonnie. She’s never done anything but be kind to everyone. She’s more precious than gold. What are we going to do? She felt tears welling in her eyes.

We’re going to find the son-of-a-bitch who took her, and we’re going to bring her and her kidnapper back, the sheriff said in his deep, determined voice. I swear as sure as I’m standing here, Miss Bonnie will be returned to her family, and the brute who stole her away will be punished for what he’s done. That’s what we’ve built prisons for.

Yes, Susan said thoughtfully. She found his fervent tone inspiring. She turned to Elizabeth and took her hands. We’ll begin to search for Bonnie immediately. You’ll help me, won’t you, Lizzy?

Absolutely. I’ll go to the livery and get a couple of horses for us before I go home and pack what we’ll need to head out on the trail and begin our search.

And while you’re doing that, Susan said doggedly, I’ll scour every square inch of the school ground looking for clues as to where the buggy went with Bonnie. I’ll talk with Albert, and I’ll canvas the entire area speaking to everyone to see if anyone has more information for us.

Wait just a minute! Sheriff Feist said. "You two little ladies are going to go home and tell your family what has happened, and you’re going to stay there, offering comfort to them. It might be nice if you wanted to go to the Guadalupe Church or one of your own churches and light a candle, talk to your pastor or say some prayers for Miss Bonnie, but you leave the lawmen’s work to the lawmen. I’ve got both of my deputies talking to Albert and the folks around Guadalupe School right now. When I said we were going to bring back Miss Bonnie and her kidnapper, I meant Iverson, Mallory and I are going to bring her back, not the two of you and I."

Susan, who promptly ignored the oversized sheriff, reached into the purse she’d placed on the bench when she’d arrived at