Under the Midnight Skies

By Mary A. Lonergan

The period was the 1890s, at the onset of the 20th century and Anna Jenkins, a school teacher in New York City, gave up her profession to pursue her dream to become a stage actress. She then quickly rose to fame. Tired of doing Shakespeare’s plays, she landed in a place called Laredo, Texas to do her first freelance acting with two male pr

• Language: English
• Publisher: LitFire Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643986326

Mary A. Lonergan

Mary Anne Lonergan, a retired Asthetician and hearing impaired. She is a member of the Canadian Hearing Society and lives in Newmarket, Ontario, Canada along with her husband Mike and their little dog which she has personally trained for a hearing ear dog. Mary Anne's love for writing started after their children all left the nest to begin their own adventures. She has previously dabbled with writing Song lyrics which she won awards and she has written and published many poems to her credits. Still something was missing in her life.... Her love for writing stories where she would let her vivid imagination loose and run wild. I wanted my readers to feel the experience and try to guess the next step in the world of suspense and adventure and be able to put down the book and look forwards to my next book.

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Under The Midnight Skies

Copyright © 2019 by Mary A. Lonergan

l rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

ISBN-13: 978-1-64398-632-6

Printed in the United States of America

LitFire LLC

1-800-511-9787

www.litfirepublishing.com

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Under

the

Midnight Skies

Year of 1895

— Mary A. Lonergan —

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Brock’s eyes were strained from looking around the desert. To his disappointment, he saw nothing but the heat waves dancing upward from the dried and cracked grounds, reaching and clutching into the clear blue skies. Not only the scrubland’s waves were dancing; due to the heat, he had seen a couple of mirages many miles away of what seemed like endless scrublands and cactuses. And what made it worse, there was no breeze to move the dancing waves, not even to move a single strand of hair that somehow had broken off and fallen from under his black hat and hanging down onto his sweaty face; he had to brush away that one single strand that kept sticking to his skin. His lips felt dry and on fire; he knew they would soon be peeling from lack of moisture and the heat of the sun.

He already had been galloping for more than twelve hours; he had started riding at 4:30 a.m. to get an early start. And now, the nighttime was soon arriving. He was disappointed and exhausted in not seeing signs of life in the scrublands except for the vegetation, like the dried-out tumbleweeds lying lazily and soaking up the sun and few cactuses with their long spiny needles scattered about. But nothing else was moving, not even a rattler.

Brock knew they must be getting closer to the hills as he calculated the trip itself would take at least ten hours of riding, provided they had brought along enough water and food with them. But due to the scorching sun, he was somewhat behind scheduled.

His horse trotted slowly on the dried and crusty ground for another one and half miles. As they stopped, once again Brock scoped the horizon till he spotted the far-off hill’s famous angler and sharp peaks. Is this another mirage? he asked himself, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Perhaps he should have gone in by the front of the hills instead of taking the long way and coming around the back, but he had his reasons for doing so. He roughly calculated that he had at least another five miles or so to ride. For now, this is what the landscape was showing him. At one point, his eyes became too heavy to hold open, so he slouched down on the saddle; and with the ride’s slow motion, he nodded off into a light sleep. When he woke up, he did not realize how far they traveled. He didn’t care at that point. He just knew they both were hungry, hot, and exhausted—all in that perfect order.

Come on, Chancer. We can do it, he raised his parched voice as he leaned forward to pat her hot and sweaty neck.

The four-year-old black mare, with a low snicker, barely lifted her head up. She gave a little shake, side to side, as if to say maybe, unsure if she could still make that extra few miles.

Brock sat upright in his saddle, shifting his position to straighten up his back. He took off his dusty charcoal hat, holding it upward to block out the dancing sunrays. Unhappy, he ran his sweaty forehead against the denim sleeve of his arm. Maybe we should travel the last few miles tonight when it’s cooler. What do you say, Chancer?

With his hat as shield, protecting his eyes against the sun’s glare, Brock guessed it to be about 4:30 p.m. or later. He knew that once the fiery sun drops below the horizon, the cool evening would come and he would relish the cold night. He promised himself that he would never complain about the cold nights again.

Having suffered in the heat, without any doubts, he was looking forward to feeling the cool air against his sweaty body. He knew Chancer would welcome the change in the air and that horses adjust quickly to extreme weather conditions.

At this point, both with the same feeling, dying for a drink of fresh cold water, muddy, or any water for that matter would do.

Brock Ran out of water by mid-morning he gave Chancer the last few drops from his canteen. Pouring it out into his feverish hand, he knew she needed the water more than he did, especially since she was to carry him for the final mileage.

Together, like drunks, they, wavered unsteadily along the hot, cracked ground for another mile or two. Brock once more tilted his hat back up over his sweaty forehead to have another look on how much closer to the hills they were. To his shock, the hills’ skyline was becoming a reality. He edged his horse to move forward. Come on, old girl. Get us one more mile closer. I promise you there will be water and food waiting for us when we get there, He would tell her after each mile.

It was of no use. Chancer stood her ground and was close to collapsing. Brock knew he could not make the rest of the way without her, and he did not want to risk her life for that last few miles.

Even though, the hills of Cerritos Blanco were only twenty to thirty miles outside from Laredo, Brock, after much debating, had decided to come to the hills from the backside so as not to be seen sneaking up on them. Laredo’s sheriff department would be waiting for a signal that he arrived at the foothills. Brock was to build a small fire to create smoke, which would be his signal, visible over the hills.

The coolness finally began to arrive in the stifling air as the sun lowered and graced its presences in hell. They had traveled enough for one day. He slowly climbed off his horse, and once he planted both his feet firmly down on the baked ground, he proceeded to remove the leather saddle from Chancer’s back, almost fallen over from the sheer weight of it. No wonder you are exhausted. This bloody thing weighs a ton in this heat, he said out loud as he tossed the saddle down onto the ground with a loud thud. Brock knew Chancer needed rest over an hour ago, and it was of pure luck that she survived the day’s trekking. Had it been an older horse, they would not have made it past the first day the heat.

Come on, Chancer. Let’s rest for an hour or so. When the big chill comes, we’ll try and get to the hills and look for some food and water before it gets too dark, Brock slurred.

Brock was into a deep and dreamless sleep, lying flat on his back with his head against the saddle for support, and Chancer had quickly fallen off to sleep. Suddenly, a loud gunshot went off, echoing into the darken night. Chancer, who had been lying on the hot ground and stretched out next to her master, gave a startling jump; her sudden reflexes forced her quickly up on all four legs.

While standing tall and without waking her master from his deep slumber, another gunshot was heard, coming from somewhere in the hillside of the famous Cerritos Blanco area.

She perked up her ears, twitching them in every direction, like a television antenna, checking where the gunshot sound was coming from. Chancer finally pinned down the direction; it came from the middle of the hills directly in front of them but at a higher altitude. Chancer knew it was time to wake her master.

She moved in closer and, with dry her nose, nudged at his shoulder, almost rolling him over onto his side. At first, Brock did not open his eyes, instead, he gave a little grunting sound, and once again, she nudged his shoulder a little harder, forcing him to open his eyes. Rubbing both of his eyes, he barely saw her body’s outline and saw through the darkness that she was up on all four legs, staring down on him.

What the hell, Chancer? Why did you wake me up? What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re cold. Hell, not after all this bloody heat?

It was at that precise moment Brock faintly heard a gunshot from somewhere around him. He jumped upright onto his feet in an instant with his right hand on the top of his Colt handgun that was resting in its holster on his hips. He knew he had overslept when he noticed that it was already pitch-black out. With no moon, only a bit of light from millions of diamonds in the night sky, it was no use trying to see anything in the far-off distance. He knew he was facing the hills.

He pat Chancer’s neck and leaned closer to her head. Good girl, Chancer. Now, where are the shots coming from? he whispered close to her ear. Brock knew from his own experiences, except for donkeys, that the majority of horses were very intelligent in their own way and, at times, they also had stronger instincts than most men did. He trusted horses’ instincts better than he trusted his own.

Against the darkness, Brock could barely see where they were going, but he noticed Chancer was facing one direction, so he followed her toward the mountains.

Of course, the middle of the hills. I didn’t realize we were this close. You don’t think they could see us in this bloody darkness, do you, Chancer?

Another shot rang out.

Come on, Chancer. I know they are shooting at someone, and I’ll bet you my ranch, Anna has escaped. Think you can get us to the hills?

Chancer snickered and nodded at him, instantly showing him that she was ready and willing.

Brock didn’t waste any time. He was now wide awake and was feeling somewhat refreshed. At that moment, he wished for the sun to return from hell, only so he could see where he was going. He quickly picked up and laid the woolen orange-and-brown-colored plaid blanket over her back. Next he picked up the heavy leather saddle with little efforts and set it carefully on Chancer’s back, and by the time they were ready to ride, another shot was heard. Without waiting for her permission, he was up on her back. With a soft click of his tongue, they both were on their way, heading toward the hills. Together, rested as a team, they were at full speed against the cool night air. They were on their way to rescue Anna from her captor, the Sleazeball who goes by the name of, Jake Martin, as Anna once called him.

And so Their Story Began

The year was 1895, Anna Jenkins had just turned twenty-five years old. She knew that being a schoolteacher in New York City was not one of her great strengths. She had lived long enough with her restless and energetic soul. Since she was young, she always wanted to be an actress. One day, she had enough of the quiet zone and signed up for acting classes that she would attend after working hours. She spent most of her weekends at the stage nearby, filling in for a missing or sick actress and took on smaller roles. After her first year of training, she agreed to star in a low-grade play, but once it appeared in the newspapers worldwide, overnight she became a celebrity. Before signing another year’s contract with New York’s school counsel, she handed in her resume and quit her school teaching job.

In a matter of time, Anna suddenly became a prominent actress, and she began to work with other notable actress and actors, mostly in Shakespeare stories.

It had taken her a total of two years to build up her reputation as a new actress who reminded everyone of the lovely French Sadie Thomas during her younger years. Like her, she was lively and passionate about her life and her work. She had the same skin tone and hair, auburn, as Sadie did but wore her hair in a shorter fashion. Anna’s hair flowed softly just two inches above her shoulders, with every intention of letting it grow longer on the request of her producer, Jack Dolton, an older gentleman with a keen eye for talent. He was known to others as a man with a big heart. It was his suggestion, as he felt that she would become more popular in her chosen career. He groomed her by saying, These days, everyone seems to prefer longer hair. Anna knew he was right and agreed to give it a try but not without giving him a fuss first. She knew he was the kind of man to take ribbing from his workers of his theaters. They worked hard for Dolton Company; they traveled from town to cities by a horse-drawn caravan and a team of horse-drawn wagons. Once word got out, people came from every direction to see and hear Anna, who reminded them of the French actress, the late lovely Sadie Thomas.

A talent scout spotted Anna. On approaching Anna’s boss, the scout found out that her contract was about to expire and she would be free to continue to work with anyone or resign once again with Jack Dolton Company, but Anna was looking forward to a chance to work with another company in another city.

Midway in the second year of her stage acting career, while away acting on stage in Philadelphia, Anna received a telegram from her parents that she kept in close contact. The telegram was requesting her to contact James Webster in Dallas, Texas, and try out for a Shakespeare role.

The telegrams went back and forth between Webster and Anna, and she made her decision to accept the offer and leave New York soil and try out for the new role in Dallas, Texas.

It took just a little over a few days of train and stage coaches for Anna among a small group of young women also on the train. In the box cars were soldiers who were newer recruits, trained out of Seattle and were heading across the USA and down to the boarder of Texas and Mexico where fighting has been ongoing