The Heart Hears: MacPherson Brides, #4

By Mischelle Creager

She needs protection from the man hunting her.

He needs to banish his distrust of women.

War widow Salina Meier Moffett Dunham doesn't trust men. Shamefully treated by her father and husband, she is on the run with her children to escape a forced marriage or worse—death. In Ainsley, Kansas, she shortens her name to Lena Meier to hide from the man pursuing her. She finds a position as a clerk in the mercantile with the grouchy storekeeper. But there is something within that grumpy man that her heart hears and draws her. She isn't sure what that thing is until she discovers a book in the storeroom of the mercantile.

Returning from the war, Angus MacPherson takes back the running of his mercantile and keeps his distance from the young women in Ainsley. After a run-in with Lena Meier—literally, his buggy ran into her cart, leaving him injured, he agrees to let her work in his store. After all, his MacPherson family creed is to help and protect all widows and orphans. But this woman, this stranger in town, irritates and interests him as no woman has since Amelia, the woman who betrayed him to marry his rich cousin. Matters get worse when his former fiancé, who is now a wealthy widow, returns to Ainsley and wants Angus as her new husband.

Can love weave its way through the heart by things unspoken?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Worbly Publishing
• Release date: Jul 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393885368

Mischelle Creager

Mischelle Creager writes inspirational historical romances set in the mid-1800s. She’s not sure which she loves more—researching or writing. When she’s not doing one of those two things, she can probably be found reading or baking. She is a wife whose wonderful husband told her, when he retired several years ago, that he wanted to support her in her writing and took over all the household chores, including sweeping, dusting, and laundry.  He even cleans up for her after she bakes! Her son and daughter are always available to help with social media questions. Mischelle loves to share her historical research and has a website, Under The Attic Eaves, filled with tidbits she’s found in books written in the 19th Century. She also “reprints” a historical magazine, Worbly’s Family Monthly Magazine, filled with items from books and magazines published in the middle of the 1800s. You can visit these two sites at http://undertheatticeaves.com/ and http://worblysmagazine.com  . If you would like to know more about Mischelle and her family, please visit her blog, Families Across the Generations at http://familiesacrossthegenerations.blogspot.com/ or my website at http://mischellecreager.com. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kansas near the Missouri border, Early May, 1865

T hat way , Missus Sally. Ol’ Tupper’s gnarled, black finger pointed down the empty dirt road. Whacha be lookin’ for is just ’round that bend a ways.

Sally Dunham glanced from the road to the white-haired man who helped her escape, then acted as her guide as they worked their way from her grandparents’ home in Missouri to what she hoped would be her place of salvation. Are you sure you won’t go with us. You could spend the night before you start back.

Ol’ Tupper chuckled in that deep, gravelly voice of his. Now, missy, you knows no black man best be accum’nin’ a white woman, even if Mr. Lincoln done said we was all free. But don’t you be worryin’ yorself none. You got yore gun. He tipped his head to the side. And I’ll be watchin’ from them bushes over dar. He gave her a wide smile. You best be a-hurryin’ or you won’t be a-makin’ it dar ’fore da sun sets all da way down.

With his long gun gripped in his hand, the old man disappeared into the shadowy shrubs on the side of the road.

Sally stared at the Mormon handcart Ol’ Tupper had gotten hold of somewhere, and wished for the thousandth time that her father-in-law hadn’t taken the last two horses from her grandparents’ farm. With great care, she slipped on the oversized leather gloves Ol’ Tupper had given her. She gripped the wooden crossbar of the two-wheeled wooden cart and bit her lower lip when she felt at least one of the blisters on her hands shoot a sharp pain across her palm as it split open.

I can do it. Just a little farther. I have to do it. The words pounded in her head as they had for the last two or three days. With a grunt and a hard push, she started the cart on the final part of her journey. Her two small sons, tired and dirty, sat on the pitifully small pile of belongings they had been able to take with them when they escaped the plans her father-in-law had for her.

Sweat stuck her widow’s black dress to her shoulders as the ache in her back battled with the cramps in her hands. She rounded the bend in the road that Ol’ Tupper had pointed out.

Suddenly, the air filled with gunfire, shouts, and the pounding of horses’ hooves somewhere behind her.

Before she could maneuver the handcart off the road, a horse and buggy barreled around the bend, heading toward her.

She screamed and pushed harder. Her children yelled and reached for her.

The driver shouted. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the horse reared up on its hind legs, then it jerked sideways.

The buggy followed, throwing the driver out. He hit the ground with a hard thud.

The horse twisted more. The buggy spun faster. It was going to hit them. Sally grabbed her children and jumped to the side. The buggy and the cart collided with a loud crunch.

As the gunfire drew nearer and the overturned buggy’s wheels spun round and round, Sally released her sons and pulled a pistol from her pocket. She aimed it at whoever was racing around the bend.

Two men galloped into view. They reined their horses to a halt.

Well, looky here. The rider on the left slipped his gun into his holster and pushed back his hat with his index finger. Long, dirty blond hair surrounded his face. He tugged down the handkerchief that covered his lower face. We found us a mighty pretty lady who thinks she can scare us off with that little gun. Oh, I do fancy me a red-haired woman today.

The man laid the reins on the right side of his horse’s neck while the other rider did the same, only in the other direction. Each of their horses took a step to the side, separating the men.

Stop where you are. Sally forced her attention away from her sons who were clinging to her skirt and gripped the pistol with both hands. She kept her gun pointed at the man who had spoken. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Just toss your guns into the bushes, then turn around and ride off.

Well, lady, I don’t think—

A shot rang out from the bushes. The man’s hat flew off his head. He glared at her, his eyes blazing in anger.

The other man looked at her. His eyes were empty, soulless. "Let it go, Nate. It ain’t worth it. Besides, Ike might need some help with that house, especially if his brothers are nearby."

Her younger son’s cries grew louder. Sally felt her arms tremble ever so slightly. She didn’t know if it was from fear or the need to calm her child.

After a moment that lasted an eternity, the hatless man growled, jerked the reins on his horse, and headed back around the bend. The other man slipped his gun into his holster, trotted over to where the first man’s hat hung on a bush at the side of the road, grabbed it, and turned toward her. He pulled his handkerchief down from his face. Today was your lucky day. If it hadn’t been for whoever’s in those bushes, he would’ve killed you and your boys before the day was out.

He shook his head. Still might when he remembers you saw his face. He shrugged. Me. I don’t care. We’re all gonna die someday.

Without another word, the man turned his horse and followed the first man back around the bend.

Sally’s whole body shook as she slipped the gun into her pocket, then dropped to the ground, and grabbed her boys in her arms.

Angus MacPherson felt the air rip out of his chest as he thudded on the hard ground. Everything went black for a moment, a minute, an eternity—he didn’t know. He struggled to dig his fingers into the dirt, hoping to keep the ground from spinning as the pain in his body tried to swallow him whole. Forcing his eyes open just a slit as he lay sprawled on the side of the road, he spied a woman with two little red-headed boys clinging to her skirt and caterwauling like some of his girl cousins had when his brothers used to chase them and pull their braids.

Digging his fingers into the dirt, he struggled to rise, but the pain in his head, arm and leg kept him tethered to the ground as sure as pegs kept a tent pinned down.

Then the men left.

They’re safe. Angus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was keeping in. Pain, with its multiple-spiked tentacles, jerked him back into darkness.

Ol’ Tupper came out of the brushes and started untangling the buggy and the crushed handcart. Still shaking, Sally comforted her boys for a moment, then set them aside and went to the injured man. She ran her fingers over his legs and arms, checking for any broken bones. A long hiss burst passed her lips when she discovered his left arm was broken between his shoulder and elbow. After gathering a couple of branches from the ground, she ripped strips from her petticoat, then braced his arm.

She and her sons could have been killed. Bile threatened to rise up in her throat. She swallowed it back.

But God had looked after them, protected them from harm or death. She needed to concentrate on that thought. After three or four deep breaths, she was able to continue helping the injured man.

While wrapping the broken arm, she looked around and spotted Ol’ Tupper as he grabbed the reins of the sweating horse and eased the buggy closer to the man on the ground, then set the brake. Once that was done, he gathered what few belongings she had been able to take with her when she had run away from her home and stuffed them in the back of the buggy.

As the old man set her boys in the buggy, she tapped on the injured man’s shoulder. Mister, mister, wake up. You need to get into the buggy so we can get you to a doctor. There’s a town not too far down the road. At least, I think it is not too far away.

The man’s eyes remained closed, but his lips moved just a bit.

She let out a small sigh when he opened his eyes—green eyes that stared at her in the fading sunlight.

Not far. Can you help me up? He shuffled his legs and bit down hard on his lips, but a deep groan came out anyway. "My leg, it might be broken.’

Sally ran her fingers between his knee and ankle again. I don’t feel anything wrong here. Is it higher?

The man was breathing hard. Yes.

Her fingers traveled over and around on his knee. He let out a loud grunt of pain. I don’t think anything is broken—wrenched maybe, and that can be just as painful. She stood. Is there a doctor in town?

Yes. He gulped in a deep breath. Can you help me into the buggy?

Ol’ Tupper held out a glass bottle with two or three inches of liquid inside. Best give him a dose of dis.

Sally took the bottle and pulled out the cork, then sniffed. Her eyes watered. What—?

Had it case o’ ’mergencies, like dis one. The old man shrugged.

Much as she didn’t like alcohol because of what she had seen it do to her husband and father, she could understand the need of it for pain like the injured man had to be feeling.

She put the bottle to his lips. Take a drink. It will make the way into town easier on you.

Pain-filled eyes stared at her for a moment. Then he put his hand over hers as she held the bottle to his lips. She had only intended for him to take a sip or two, but suddenly the bottle was empty.

When his hand fell from hers, she shoved the bottle aside. Are you ready to get into your buggy?

No. But let’s do it.

With grunts and painful yelps and a lot of help from Ol’ Tupper, she got him into the buggy. He stared down at her sons for a moment, then dropped his head to his chest. After Ol’ Tupper handed her a rope from the back of the buggy, she looped it around the man and tied him to the seat. There was no way she could drive the buggy and hold onto him at the same time.

Once Sally was settled in the buggy, she looked at Ol’ Tupper who stood on the ground. I wish—

He held up his hand. Missy, you best be gettin’ ’long. Can’t count on them bad men not a’comin’ back.

Ol’ Tupper turned away and hobbled back into the bushes.

Sally released the brake. Her palms burned as she gripped the reins and gave them a sharp snap. She left her last friend in the world and didn’t know what the future held.

Chapter 2

Six-year -old Chadburn scooted as close to Sally as he could while keeping his younger brother between them. Who’s that man, Mama?

I don’t know, honey, but he’s hurt. We need to help him. She wanted to snap the reins over the horse’s rump and get to town as fast as possible, but she couldn’t take a chance like that. What if the knots in the rope didn’t hold? The man could fall out and get injured even worse.

Mama, are we good Maritans? Archibald, two years younger than his brother, stared up at her.

Sally wasn’t sure what her son was asking.

Like in the story you told the other day. Chadburn seemed to understand.

Oh, the Good Samaritan, the story Jesus told about helping others. She tried to ignore the increasing pain in her hands. Yes, I guess you could say we’re being Good Samaritans.

Papa would be proud of us, wouldn’t he? Chadburn had always idolized his father because of the stories her father-in-law told of his son, even though she knew most of them were untrue.

Papa sees us from Heben, right? Archibald had to join in. Grandpa Moffett, too?

Sorrow gripped Sally’s heart for a moment as she thought of her grandfather lying beside her grandmother in the family cemetery.

Before she could say anything, the man started struggling on the seat. What in—

Don’t say anything you don’t want my small sons to hear. Sally wanted to cover the man’s mouth before he said anything else. She had been with her father enough in the years before she married to know how soldiers reacted from pain plus alcohol. The words they’d use shouldn’t be said in the presence of women and children.

Sorry, ma’am. He sat silent for a few moments, or as silent as a man in pain could be. Name’s MacPherson, Angus MacPherson. It sounded like he was trying to talk while keeping his jaws smashed together. What’s yours?

Sally had been thinking about this very thing most of the way as they traveled from her grandparents’ farm in Missouri where her husband had sent her after she learned that he had been unfaithful to her and threatened to tell her father, his commanding officer. There was no way she could use her married name. That would make it far too easy for her brother-in-law to find her, so she had decided on another name as she had been pushing the handcart—Salina Meier.

After all, it wasn’t a lie. She was born when her father was away, leading his troops on some campaign or other. Her mother had named her Salina Meier after her grandmother, but her father didn’t get along with his mother-in-law and insisted that his daughter be called Sally.

The man let out a chuckle, followed by a low groan. Don’t look like a Salina—name means ‘from a salty place.’ He tilted his head to the side just a bit. Lena fits you better—means ‘light.’ Setting sun makes your hair shine—

Mr. MacPherson, please remember children are about, to say nothing about how inappropriate your remarks are. Although I can excuse you this time because of the pain you must be feeling and the alcohol you have consumed.

Now that sounds like a Salina. His head shot up as he sucked in a deep breath when they hit a small dip in the road. He remained quiet for a few minutes after that, probably trying to gather his strength for the next rut they would pass over.

It took Sally a moment or two to realize the man was humming. Maybe he was trying to distract himself from the pain he had to be feeling, or perhaps it was because of what he had drunken for that bottle. It was a good thing the man was tied to the buggy. Although how he could do anything right now with a broken arm and damaged knee was beyond her. Still, she felt better knowing she wouldn’t have to keep one arm ready to catch hold of him if he started moving about.

All at once, the mumbled words became a bit clearer. It was by…a woman’s treacherous hand…the MacPherson time will…no be long…

Sir, please keep quiet. Sally or Salina or whoever she was now felt a shiver run down her back. What kind of man was she taking into town? Would she find safety there for herself and her sons or more danger?

We’re at the edge of town. Where do we go? She glanced at his bowed head as her hands shook slightly on the reins.

Second…second crossroad, left. Second building…on left. Doc Thomas. His words were starting to slur more. After a small pause, he added words to the tune he had been humming, but she could not make sense of all of them. Still, the ones she did understand sent a shiver down her back—condemned to die, gallows’ tree, see me hanged.

She sent a quick prayer to Heaven as she tried to shut out his words, hoping that she was indeed heading for the doctor’s house.

She followed his instructions. In a few minutes, she pulled up in front of a house with lights shining through the windows as twilight was slowly falling around them. After setting the brake, she climbed down, then looked back at her sons. Stay right where you are. I’m going to get the doctor.

In the dimness, she wasn’t sure if they nodded or not, but she knew they would mind her.

At the door, she rapped a couple of times, then waited for what seemed years until a thin man with a shock of white hair opened the door.

What’s the need?

I have an injured man in the buggy. He says his name is Angus MacPherson.

The man glanced over his shoulder. Ben, need your help. Seems Angus has got himself hurt again. But this time, he’s found a pretty woman to help him out. The doctor, followed by an equally elderly man, hurried out to the buggy. When they saw the rope tied around the man, they both chuckled. Looks like she caught him good.

Angus lay on the table in Doc’s examining room. One of the broken ends of the branch the woman had bound his arm with jabbed him in the side. He wished Doc would stop prodding and poking him and remove the wood and wrap his arm like it needed to be.

Hmm, tell me if this hurts. Doc rammed his boney fingers into Angus’ injured knee—the one that had given him pain ever since a Rebel’s bullet had damaged it, leaving Angus with a slight limp which he hated.

Yes-s-s! Angus’ shoulders shot up from the table. He shoved the doctor away, then fell backward. It hurts.

Hmm, thought it might. Doc stepped back to the table. You’ve wrenched your knee pretty good. I’ll wrap it, but you’re gonna have to stay off of it for a while.

Angus rested the fist of his uninjured arm against his forehead and let out a hiss and a couple of groans while the doc wrapped his knee. He sucked in another deep breath. Did you send for Kerr yet? I need to tell him what happened.

Well now, Angus. Our sheriff’s a mite busy at the moment. Doc frowned as he kept wrapping Angus’ knee. Seems someone set your house afire.

Sally—no, she needed to think of herself as Salina, or maybe Lena as the injured man had called her—waited in the doctor’s kitchen, watching her boys eat sandwiches and cookies. Although more cookies than sandwiches were disappearing.

Juliet, as Doctor Thomas’ wife insisted on being called, came bustling into the room with a box in her hands, followed by a tall man with dark brown hair, green eyes, and a star on his shirt. Black soot-streaked his clothes and face. The stench of burnt wood surrounded him.

All at once, Sally remembered the words the injured man had mumbled in the wagon about condemned to die and the gallows tree? Had she brought an outlaw, a killer into town? Would she be arrested since she was with him? If that happened, what would become of her sons?

This is our sheriff, Kerr MacPherson. As you probably can guess by the name, he’s Angus’ brother. Kerr, this is Salina Meier.

Sally set down her cup of coffee and let out a little sigh. Since the injured man’s brother was the sheriff, she probably wouldn’t be arrested. She smiled at him, then watched Juliet pour water from a kettle on the back of the stove into a bowl and carried it over to the table. The memory of what the injured man had said about her name still irritated Sally. Your brother said my name meant ‘salty place.’

He chuckled. "That sounds like Angus. He and Granny always had a big interest in what names meant.

He said I looked more like a ‘Lena.’ She was curious if the injured man was making up what he said her name meant. Do you know what Lena means?

Nope, but then names are just names to me. If that’s what Angus called you, I’ll do the same, if I might?

That will be fine. And so, Sally went from one variation of Salina to another version—Sally to Lena.

The sheriff held the chair for Juliet, then moved over and sat across the table from Lena. Glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Seems you deserve our family’s gratitude for helping out my little brother.

Lena held back a chuckle at the way the sheriff described his brother. The man she had helped was not one bit little.

Juliet tapped Lena’s hands which were no longer covered in gloves but still had white fabric strips wrapped around them. "Let me check out those hands of yours. They look like they could use some attention.

Lena bit her lip to keep from crying out as the crusted-over strips were slowly peeled back to reveal blisters, some broken and seeping, others puffy and angry.

Juliet tsk-tsked while she cleaned the damaged skin.

Will your brother recover completely? Lena worried that she had done something wrong, especially after he started slurring his speech before they got to the doctor’s house. He hit his head pretty hard when he was thrown from his buggy.

A grin crossed the