Sara Rose

By A. H. Holt

Sara Rose by A. H. Holt

Sarah Rose’s husband comes home drunk and angry once again. He lunges to grab Sarah Rose and falls down the cellar stairs breaking his neck. Sarah Rose knows his family will accuse her of murdering him so they can take her children. With the help of her Uncle, Eli, she devises a way to hide his body so that no one will find it, packs up her three boys, and leaves Ohio to settle on a claim on the plains of Illinois.

During the trip, they join forces with Jordan, a long-lost, childhood sweetheart, for protection from killers preying on lone travelers. Later, he and his mentor, Sanders will protect her from her husband’s brother and his friends demanding to know what happened to her husband.

When they finally arrive in Lacon, Sarah Rose must deal with her brother and his wife insisting she marry a brother-in-law, the sheriff.

#northwestern #frontier #covered wagon #historical #novel #Ohio #Illinois #books #marriage #love #abuse #abusive husband #land grab #action #adventure #crime #suspense #1860's #strong female lead

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Anne Haw Holt Ph.D.
A. H. Holt

New Books Coming!

#bookreview #western #frontier #cowboy #historical #novel #reader #books #writing #authorlife #amwriting #amreading #writer #avidreader #teaching #grantwriting

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jamie Holt Sherfy
• Release date: Nov 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463201749

A. H. Holt

Anne Haw Holt Ph.D. writing as A. H. HoltAnne is a tireless and opinionated juggernaut who literally never stops. She is a writer of both fiction and nonfiction and is also an accomplished poet and photographer.Born in Virginia on September 20, 1934, Anne has lived an incredible life. She started her adult life with an eighth-grade education and quickly acquired some business training. She always worked full-time, often running her own businesses and always supporting her family. Having an innate love for books and being a prolific reader and writer, getting her degree was a natural step when she had the time. She attended Piedmont Virginia Community College (PVCC) in Charlottesville, Virginia, and received her BA from Mary Baldwin in Staunton, Virginia in 1989. She holds a MA and Ph.D. in History from Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. She completed her education over many years maintaining a respectable grade average, graduating magna cum laude while working full time while raising and supporting a large family.Dr. Holt is a professional grant writer and teaches grant writing, writing, and leadership. Her book, ‘Grant Writing Step by Step’, is one of the best on the subject. Her book, ‘From Writer to Author: Prepare your Manuscript for Publication’, is a must-have for any serious writer.Anne brings her deep knowledge of history and the American West into her western novels with incredible characters and storylines making them an absolute joy to read. She also has a fantastic anthology of four short stories in the suspense/horror genre, ‘The Four Faces of Death’.‘The Malefactors’, is a beautiful and complicated story of the life of the thieves who died with Christ on the cross. This book is based on a story her father wrote and never published decades ago.All in all, Anne is a talented and amazing writer creating great stories between being active in her community, working full time while beautifully maintaining her role as the matriarch of a huge family.

Book preview

SARA ROSE

By A. H. Holt

Originally published in

© Copyright 2021 by

Anne Haw Holt aka. A. H. Holt

All rights reserved.

All the characters in this book are fictitious,

and any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published by Jamie Holt Sherfy

Cover Design

by Jamie Holt Sherfy

Edited by

Mark Sherfy & Jamie Holt Sherfy

Epub - 9780463201749

Paperback - 9798775551261

Hardback - 9798775578985

Hardback with Dust Cover - 9781794761766

Other Books By

A. H. Holt

Anne Haw Holt Ph.D.Western / Frontier

Blanco Sol

Blood Redemption

Ten In Texas

Kendrick

Kendrick’s Pride

High Plains Fort

Riding Fence

Silver CreekNon Western / Frontier

The Malefactors

Four Faces of DeathNonfiction

The XIT Ranch - How Texas Traded Land for a State House

Grant Writing Step By Step

From Writer To Author

Beautiful Places - Monticello & Jefferson County FloridaAhholt.com

Dedicated to

my daughter Jamie

Table of Contents

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Author Profile

CHAPTER ONE

Sara Rose grasped the polished handrail and leaned forward, straining to see into the gloom at the foot of the stairs. The dark shadows made it impossible to see all the way down to the last step.

Are you hurt Hans? She called for the third time.

Hans didn't answer. Sara turned away from the open cellar door and rushed across the kitchen to get a lighted candle from the table. Returning to the open doorway, she held the candle holder high to throw light onto the bottom of the steps.

Hans’ long legs splayed across the last step. Gray dimness hid the rest of his body.

Descending the steep stairs step by careful step, Sara continued to hold the candle above her head.

Her heart pounded. A crushing fear made it hard to breathe.

But I must find out. I must know.

As she moved down the staircase, Hans’ entire body came into view. Her thoughts raced and jumbled.

Maybe he's knocked himself out. He probably hit his head and knocked himself out. He looks as limp as an old rag.

Hans lay perfectly still. Sara gathered her skirts and hopped awkwardly over the last step to avoid touching his sprawled out legs.

Bending low, she placed the candle holder on the hard dirt floor. She moved back a few feet to watch her husband's face.

His ruddy cheeks were deathly pale, and his eyes were closed as if asleep. He still did not move.

I’m afraid to move nearer--afraid Hans might only be pretending he’s knocked out.

Sara expected her husband to jump up from the floor at any moment, reach his rough hands out to grab her. He would laugh out loud when she screamed in fright.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she stood trembling, watching her husband. He didn’t move.

Still afraid, but finally beginning to hope, Sara bent close to Hans. She reached out to touch his chest with one finger.

When she felt no movement she hesitated, caught her breath and gathered her courage to place one hand flat in the middle of his waistcoat, just above his gold watch chain.

She felt nothing. There was no response to her touch, no sign of life.

Hans wasn't breathing. He really wasn't breathing. Still trembling with fear and dread, Sara moved closer to kneel at the man’s side.

She placed the fingers of her right hand along the side of Han’s throat. Her heart seemed to leap when she could feel no movement. His skin still held warmth, but he was surely dead.

Dead. Hans is dead. He would never hit me again—never scream at me again, drunk or sober.

Gasping with shock at the rush of gladness that filled her body with strength. Sara Rose straightened to her full height to stare down on the body of her husband of eight years.

She felt stunned. She was almost numb with the shock of her reaction, but she could feel no shame for her joy.

Hans came home only a few moments earlier. He was drinking, or to be precise, he was drunk.

As usual when he drank too much, his voice grew too loud and raucous and his temper became uncertain.

He visited his brother Otto's tavern in the village to drink and gamble almost every evening in the last few months. The hour was extremely late. It was long past midnight when he threw open the back door.

Sara Rose sat at the polished oak table in the main room of the house. She was writing a long overdue letter to her brother James.

Both of Sara Rose's brothers were much older. They left home years before, determined to see the world and make their way doing anything except farming.

Sara Rose remembered the comfort of their love and care when she was a small child. It had been so long though, she could hardly remember their faces.

Michael still wandered somewhere. No one knew where. He hadn't written in years, but James finally grew tired of his aimlessly traveling here and there and moving from job to job. He met a young woman somewhere in the west, fell in love and married.

He and his wife took up a land claim and started a farm near a place called Lacon in Illinois. He wrote to Sara Rose every month, telling her in great detail how he progressed in planting crops and building a home.

Hans began yelling even as he slammed the back door wide open so it banged against the wall. Why are you sitting up here in the middle of the night wasting a good beeswax candle, you stubborn, thoughtless woman? What are you doing?

How many times must I speak to you about your wastefulness? Will you never learn anything? Are you unable to learn anything?

Sara jumped up to stand beside her chair. Staring down at the floor, she kept silent, letting the tirade flow past her.

She knew from experience that anything she might say to defend herself would only make matters worse. When Hans was far-gone in drink there was no reasoning with him.

Hans closed the door and stopped to hang his hat and coat on the pegs in the wall near the back door. He took time to straighten his coat with exaggerated precision. He adjusted the drape of the coat twice to make sure it would stay exactly as he placed it.

He always became excessively careful of his clothing when he drank. He finished fussing over his coat and hat and turned to reel across the room. He fell into the chair Sara Rose vacated when he entered the house.

  The candle light sparkled on the gray hairs just beginning to show in his thick hair. Still a handsome man, with his dark hair and large eyes in a well-shaped face, his excessive drinking could be seen in several ways. He had gained a lot of weight, and the skin around his eyes was puffy and discolored.

Since you're astir anyway Woman, fetch me some food. I've not eaten a bite since I ate my dinner at the mill this noon.

Sara Rose turned to open the cupboard. She took down a platter of ham and some biscuits left over from supper.

Suddenly, Han's eyes fell on Sara Rose’s almost completed letter to James. He jerked himself forward in his chair to stare down at her words.

Angered either by what he read or by the whole idea of the letter, he reacted by grabbing up the sheets of paper in one hand and waving them over his head. He leaped from the chair, knocking it over backwards with a crash as he lurched across the room to confront Sara Rose.

Placing one hand against the side of the oak dish safe to steady himself, Hans screamed, Why are you writing to that good-for-nothing brother of yours again?

Look at this. Just look. He shook the papers over Sara's head.

I told you before I will never again allow you to truck with such a fool in any way. What’s wrong with you? When he refused to give up his foolish adventures and come back here to civilization to help me with this farm I forbade you to ever write your brother another letter.

Don’t you remember what I said? Can’t you remember anything I tell you? 

But, Hans, please. I must write to James. He's my brother.

Why do you insist on defying me? Do you have no respect for me as your husband? Is that it?

No Hans. No--of course that isn’t it.

Hans’ face flushed an ugly red. His words slurred and his voice took on a far-away, thick sound.

He took a step closer to Sara Rose. He still held the crumpled pages of her letter to James high in the air with his left hand.

Holding the platter of ham in trembling hands she turned to face him. He stared down at her for a long moment, then reached out to slap her cheek sharply with the fingers of his right hand.

Jerking away from the sting of the blow, Sara Rose dropped the wooden platter of ham slices to the floor and turned to run toward the back door. Hans reached out to catch her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

Don't attempt to get away from me, you clumsy fool. You can't get away from me. You’ll never get away from me.

You know I'll always catch you and when I do I promise you. Your punishment will be ten times worse than if you stand still and face me.

Roughly pushing down on Sara's shoulder, Hans continued yelling, his head down, his face held close to hers, Just look at what you've done now.

Look, he repeated, pointing to the platter and the pieces of ham scattered on the floor.

How can you be so wasteful? You know I'm short on money this year. Anything we don't need to eat we could sell.

Do I have to watch you every minute? Get down there on the floor and pick up that food. 

You don't fool me at all, you vindictive witch. You dropped that meat on purpose. You dropped it because you knew I wanted it, didn't you?

No---no, of course I didn’t, husband. Please, I’ll pick it up. I can clean it so it won't be wasted.

Do you think I would eat food from the floor like a filthy dog?

Sara dropped her head and didn’t try to answer.

You will though. You'll eat every mouthful. Do you hear me? I'll see you get nothing else to eat until this meat is gone, until you eat every piece of it.

Maybe that will teach you not to be so wasteful. Now hurry and clean up your mess. I still need my supper.

Sara knelt on the floor at Hans' feet. With shaking hands she gathered up the slices of ham to place them back on the platter.

As she hurried over to the larder to replace the platter on the shelf, Hans turned back toward the table, bending to pick up the over-turned chair from the floor.

I'll cook you some bacon and an egg or two. It will only take me a moment, Hans. See, the fire's still bright.

I don't want any bacon or anything else. You've completely ruined my appetite with your clumsiness. Go get a rag or something and clean up that streak of filthy grease you left in the middle of the floor. Try not to be such a slattern. 

My mother would be horrified if she could see this. I think you do things like this hoping to shame me with my family.

Head down, Sara Rose crossed the room to open the cellar door. She felt angry and afraid, but helpless.

I know Hans is burdened with debt and directs his fear and anger over that at me, but he will eventually kill me in one of his drunken rages. Perhaps I’ll be better off when he finally does it.

She knew from bitter experience, she could do nothing but agree with Hans until he stopped his raving and dropped off to sleep. He always became completely unreasonable when he drank. He seemed to regret it though. He never failed to beg her forgiveness and vow never to drink again the next morning.

Sara Rose grabbed the rag mop from its hook behind the cellar door. Leaving the door standing open, she rushed back to scrub the mop at the streak of grease the slices of ham left on the polished oak floor.

When the floor was clean of grease, Sara Rose started back across the room to return the mop to its place on the cellar door. She heard heavy footsteps behind her and realized Hans rushed after her.

Startled and afraid, without thinking, she whirled to face him, still holding the mop handle in both hands.

When Hans reached one hand out to grab Sara she flailed out in panic with the mop handle, striking him sharply on his right shoulder.

Clearly beside himself with drink and consumed with rage that she would strike him, Hans made a harsh sound deep in his throat—an animal like growl as he spun to lunge for her, both hands like claws. She jerked away in fear, moving closer to the cellar door.

In his maddened rush, the tips of Hans' fingers slid from Sara Rose’s shoulder. He staggered a step or two and lost his balance.

One hand grabbed for the doorjamb, but could not hold his weight. He fell backward through the open door.

Heart pounding and hands trembling with shock Sara continued to stare down at the body of her husband.

Over and over she thought.