Crossing the Stream to Love: A Pair of Historical Romances

By Vanessa Carvo

Man Cannot Live By Bread Alone – A small family struggles to survive during a harsh winter, until a miracle happens.

Off To The Scruffy Silver Miner - A pregnant widow is taken by a crotchety old matchmaker to a silver miner in Nevada, but when she meets him she’s rather taken aback by his scruffy appearance and drunken habits. And, she doesn’t know how he’ll take the news of her pregnancy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365461149

Book preview

Crossing the Stream to Love: A Pair of Historical Romances

Crossing the Stream to Love: A Pair of Historical Romances

By

Vanessa Carvo

Copyright 2016 Quietly Blessed & Loved Press

Man Cannot Live By Bread Alone

Synopsis: Man Cannot Live By Bread Alone – A small family struggles to survive during a harsh winter, until a miracle happens.

THE COLD OF winter had just begun, but then again winter started so much earlier in the Alaska territory. There was no snow yet, just the frost in the morning and a biting cold that you could feel in your bones. The silence of the forest was only broken by the crackling sounds coming from the trees as the ice forming on them broke branches and snapped twigs.

Even the familiar birdsong of Tanagers was silent, as the birds had migrated south several weeks ago. It was a vault of natural silence, like a kind of church of nature. It was certainly God’s country, for it did not belong to any man.

The silence was only broken by the soft steps of a hard man. A man who didn’t mind being alone, and in fact wished not to be found at all. His heavily booted feet cracked and popped as it walked through the stands of trees, trampling ferns and other small plants. He had snow shoes tied to his hefty pack, but he has no cause to use them yet.

When the snows fell, however, they would be the only thing to keep him moving. There were no tracks or trails to find because there was nothing to find and little reason for a man to be there. It was very possible that his were the first human feet to ever touch this land.

Turn here the voice said. Turn East.

He had heard the voice before. He knew what it was, but it had been so long since he had heard that still, small voice that he was sure what to do at first. Was it a voice that he had obeyed before? If so, had that been a good idea? He didn’t remember.

So many decisions along the way had been wrong that it was hard to tell which ones, if any, to blame on that soothing inner voice. He checked his compass and reckoned that East was to his left.

The compulsion to turn left was there, but it was not overpowering. As always, it gave him a choice. Everyone had a choice, to listen to that voice within or to deafen their hearts to it. This time, it gave him pause. He took a moment to consider it.

After all, a wrong turn in the wilderness could mean certain death with winter this close. As far as he had wanted to retreat from civilization, there were certain realities he needed to acknowledge. He needed food, water and shelter from the cold. Would he find it if he took that path to the left of him?

He found the locket around his neck and opened it, finding the picture within. He took a deep breath and finally turned left, not knowing what lay ahead. He had faith that whatever it was, it was exactly where he needed to be.

CLYDE STALKED THROUGH the underbrush, holding his Springfield model 1873 close to him, aimed at a high point. His hand was clasped over the trigger well, not wanting anything to catch on the trigger and cause an unwanted discharge. A negligent discharge could scare off the game for miles.

Hunting was a zero sum game where you either won or you starved. He had passed on many smaller creatures in favor of the one that he was stalking. His family would not make it through the winter with raccoons and weasels. They needed something bigger.

Winter was coming fast and hard and in these parts old man winter had no pity. There had been some tracks and some signs of a larger creature coming through here and that could be a good or bad thing, depending on what creature it ended up being.

At his side, Igor made a little whine. The Husky did not bark, so this was often a signal to Clyde that the dog’s sensitive nose knew something that he didn’t. He had to be careful, because this could be dangerous country and he only had one shot.

Although he carried a knife as well, he knew that there were many beasts out here that could not be killed with a knife. He slowly peeked around the tree and caught sight of what Igor was whining about. It was a caribou that seemed to have been separated from its herd.

It was small and it was scrawny, so maybe it had not been able to keep up. It could sense danger, maybe from Clyde or from the smell of Igor. Its back was tense, head and ears up, ready to bolt in a second.

Clyde took aim with his rifle, knowing that he could not miss. He took a steady position against the tree, deciding to fire from a kneeling position because the less of his body he exposed the better the chance the caribou would not see him.

He deliberately lowered his rifle and pulled its buttstock tight against his shoulder. Igor had lowered himself into an attack position, prepared to give chase if their quarry bolted. The hunter acquired the sight-picture of the caribou, the iron sight resting at the center of its mass. He could feel the trigger with the fleshy part of his index finger and slowly began to squeeze as he exhaled.

The report of the rifle was a surprise, but the collapse of the caribou was not. He had known that it was a hit just as soon as the bullet left the barrel. A good hunter always did.

On approaching the little caribou he felt a swell of pity, but he pushed it down. His family would need it and the lost thing was probably doomed anyway. It was a blessing that it was smaller, because Igor’s brother had gotten sick and died last month.

Two dogs pulling a litter could help to drag a caribou out of the brush, but a one dog litter needed a lot of help from the hunter. After bleeding and cleaning the kill, Clyde smiled at the dog that seemed to be smiling back at him. Igor seemed to enjoy dragging the litter more than he enjoyed the hunting.

He slipped the harness on the dog and threw the other one over his shoulder. It would be a