Indian Summer

By Rosanne Bittner

In this historical romance novella by the author of Love’s Bounty, a handsome Cheyenne man shakes up the life of a sheltered preacher’s wife.

Maggie Gibbons leads a happy, if sheltered life on the frontier with her husband, a preacher, and their daughter. But her husband's increasingly cold and unfeeling ways trouble her, as does his disdain for the Cheyenne his mission is to convert.

His unwavering beliefs have left her questioning how she feels, and even their relationship. One chance encounter with Wild Horse, a gentle soul who the frontier soldiers have painted as savage, cements what she knows to be true: her husband, her neighbors, her community were all wrong. But will her secret encounters with Wild Horse set her free—or lead her into a world of sin?

Praise for USA Today–bestselling Author Rosanne Bittner

“Power, passion, tragedy, and triumph are Rosanne Bittner’s hallmarks. Again and again she brings readers to tears.”—RT Book Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781626818651

Rosanne Bittner

Rosanne Bittner has penned fifty-nine novels since 1983, stories about America’s 1800s Old West and Native Americans. She has won numerous writing awards, including the coveted Willa Award from Women Writing the West for Where Heaven Begins.  Her works have been published in Russia, Taiwan, Norway, Germany, Italy, and France. Bittner is a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of America, the Nebraska, Oklahoma, and North Berrien (Michigan) Historical Societies, Romance Writers of America, Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America, and a Board member of the Coloma Lioness Club, a local charitable organization.

Book preview

Chapter One

Hold still, Evelyn. Margaret Gibbons quickly scrubbed her four-year-old daughter. It was so much easier bathing her here at the pond several yards behind their cabin rather than using precious water that had to be hauled by the barrel from Fort Reno. She scooped water into a deep wooden bowl and poured it over Evelyn to rinse her. The child’s long, blond hair, a mass of curls when it was dry, hung in wet ringlets nearly to her waist. Margaret thought how pretty her daughter was, what a joy to her heart. She had lost two babies since having Evelyn, and she feared this was the only living child she would ever have.

Evelyn laughed with joy at being naked and wet, her big blue eyes dancing with merriment, baby teeth showing through puckery little lips, dimples in her cheeks. Margaret envied her child’s freedom. It was such a hot day that she wished she, too, could strip off her clothes and fall into the water; but even though the pond was hidden by tall grass and a grove of young oak trees, and beyond that a patch of sunflowers, she still felt she would be taking too much of a chance. A hundred or so men roamed the fort grounds only a half mile away, but that was not the only danger. Just south of the fort was the Darlington Indian Agency, occupied mostly by Southern Cheyenne.

Her husband had given her strict orders not to come here alone, but stifling, late-summer temperatures had caused her to throw all caution to the wind. Disobeying his order made her feel she had some say in her life. Ever since she could remember, her parents and her husband were telling her how she must feel, think, behave, speak. Here, alone at the pond, she could just be herself. She could laugh and play with her daughter. She could let the combs out of her hair if she wanted. It was long and blond and wavy like Evelyn’s, but she was never allowed to let it hang loose and free.

It seemed everything about her life was regimented, from when she was very small through her marriage at seventeen. Sometimes she imagined what it might be like to let her hair loose and run naked and screaming through the high grass, embracing the wind and the sun. She loved Edward, but when he made love to her, she wished he would show more passion. She was in turn forced to hold in much of her own passion because she feared he would think her a wanton, sinful woman if she behaved as though making love were anything but a duty, for the sole purpose of bearing children.

Was it sinful to just want to lie with a man? Edward had bedded her and planted his life in her. They had a daughter together. Yet there was so much about that part of marriage that was a mystery to her, even after five years of marriage. Neither had ever seen the other with nothing on, and they had never made love without total darkness. She couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to lie together in the grass, in the warm sunshine.

She closed her eyes. Father, forgive my sinful thoughts, she whispered. She was a minister’s wife. She should not be thinking about pleasures of the flesh. Edward was a good man, a righteous man. He had come here because he had felt a calling to bring God’s word to the Indians. By settling near Fort Reno, he could also serve the soldiers there, lonely men who risked their lives trying to keep the unruly Cheyenne on the reservation where they belonged. Edward was convinced that the presence of soldiers was not enough to quell the restlessness of the Indians, who had lately been sneaking off the reservation and making trouble as far north as Kansas and Colorado. Edward believed the Cheyenne needed to learn the white man’s ways, and that started with converting them to Christianity. In his thinking, that was the only way to tame the wild savages.

This is 1875, Edward had said just last night at supper. Most Indians except the Sioux in the north have learned they can no longer live the old way. They must conform to a new way of life, and Christianity will help calm their souls and properly civilize them.

Margaret was not so sure it would be all that easy. They had been here only a short while, and the Indians she had seen hanging around the fort seemed surly, some of them broken and miserable, certainly not eager to embrace the white man’s religion. Surely they felt displaced and lost. The commander at the fort had said that at one time the Southern Cheyenne were some of the fiercest warriors the army had faced, brave fighters who were quite skilled and elusive. The sorry beggars she had seen around the fort did not depict such a people, and she had to wonder what it would be like for her own people if another race came along and pushed them off their land, forced them to live in a place they hated, robbed them of all dignity and possessions, and forced them to change their entire way of thinking and living, lording over them like masters, and handing out food and supplies in meager portions as though they were dogs.

Did Edward ever think of it that way? Did he ever try to understand how they must feel? He acted as though they should gladly embrace their new life and new religion. He was bringing them something wonderful and they should be grateful, but there was no joy in their eyes, and few bothered to listen to his preaching. She wanted desperately to talk to Edward about her own theories on helping the Cheyenne, but she knew he would resent his wife giving him advice. Her place was to take care of home and meals and have babies, and to keep quiet in the area of decision making.

She sighed with frustration. She had not wanted to come to Indian Territory. This place was not as pretty or green or cool as Massachusetts. This little pond was like nothing more than a puddle compared with Massachusetts Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. There were no gulls here, no smell of salt water, no cool ocean breezes. There were trees here, but they were not huge and fat and old like those in Massachusetts. The soil here was red clay, not dark and rich. She felt Edward could be better serving his calling somewhere else, perhaps in a new community in Kansas or Nebraska or Colorado, where white Christian families needed a church and a minister.

Mommy, get wet with me! Evelyn splashed water at her mother, interrupting her thoughts.

Margaret laughed. Oh, you’re not being fair, Evy! Mommy is still dressed. Now you come out of there and get dressed yourself. We have to get back to— Her words ended in a gasp. A horse had appeared from out of the thick stand of trees to her right. It was painted with stripes, a sun, and arrows. On it sat a dark-skinned man wearing only a loincloth, his black hair hanging long and loose and a leather band tied around his head. He was sweating and looked ill, but there was no doubt he was strong and fierce. He sat staring at them, and Margaret wondered how long he had been watching them before he made an appearance. What did he want?

She realized then that little Evy was naked. She quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her daughter, devastated and frightened that an Indian man had seen a little white girl that way. She picked her up and held her close. Go away! she said to the Indian.

His eyelids drooped a little, and suddenly he slumped forward and slid off his horse. Margaret stepped back, keeping a tight hold on Evy, who watched in curious wonder. Is he sick, Mommy?

Margaret watched him quietly for a moment. Should she run away and leave him there? Was he dying? A good Christian would go to his aid, no matter the color of his skin. Her heart pounded with fear, and her thoughts raced in confusion. What would Edward have her do? He would probably say she should leave him and run to the fort for help and protection. Again the tiny feeling of rebellion stirred in her soul, making her want to do exactly the opposite. She set Evy on a blanket. You stay right there, Evy, do you hear? Put on your dress. I know you can do it by yourself.

Yes, Mommy. The child whispered the words, as though she was part of a wonderful, scary adventure. She stood rigid, not bothering with her dress yet, more intent on watching her mother and the wild Indian who had just intruded on their privacy. Her father had taught her she must stay away from the Indians, especially the Indian men, but she found them fascinating, and she wished she could play with some of the Indian children around the fort, but her father would not allow it.

Margaret stepped cautiously closer, and just as she reached the man, he rolled to his side with a groan, making her jump back. Little Evy gasped and