With the Sun's Rising: Book Three of the Misty Creek Series

By John W. Vander Velden

Others might think Elizabeth Sonnefelt's life idyllic. Recently married to Matthew, setting up housekeeping in a new home, surrounded by dear friends of the community, Elizabeth seems to have it all. What more could the teacher of Misty Creek's one-room school desire?

But few knew what was missing in her life. Elizabeth suffered from an un

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798822902954

John W. Vander Velden

John W. Vander Velden is graduate of Purdue University a retired farmer living with his wife and their small dog in northern Indiana. An avid reader and life long story teller, he approaches life with open eyes, hearing ears, and a heart willing to feel, striving to put to words the world he observes, in ways that reach deep within others. He has attended Antioch Writer's Workshop and is a member of Plymouth (Indiana) Area Writer's Workshop. John, the author of the novels of the Misty Creek series as well as a literary blog titled, Ramblings... Essays and Such....Follow the John W. Vander Velden Author's page on FacebookGo to johnvandervelden.com My World of Words to keep up with his latest writing news.

Book preview

With the Sun’s Rising is a beautiful tale highlighting the hardships and triumphs of life on the frontier, brimming with conflict, courage, and faith. John Vander Velden has a gift for capturing the historical setting and infusing characters with heart and perseverance. With the Sun’s Rising will appeal to readers who enjoy historical and/or Christian fiction and are searching for a compelling new world to sink into.

Kristina McBride - Author of One Moment

Kristina McBride

Young Adult Author

The Bakersville Dozen

A Million Times Goodnight

One Moment

The Tension of Opposites

www.kristinamcbride.com

Charleston, SC

www.PalmettoPublishing.com

With the Sun’s Rising

Book Three of the Misty Creek Series

Copyright © 2022 by John W. Vander Velden

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other–except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.

Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-8229-0293-0

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-8229-0294-7

eBook ISBN: 979-8-8229-0295-4

With the Sun’s Rising is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part 1: Accusations

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part 2: Hidden Fears and Secrets

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Part 3: Changes

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Part 4: A Chapter’s End

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Author’s Note:

Acknowledgments

To Nicholas Vander Velden, our son, we are proud of the hardworking, honorable, decent man you have become.

Also

Glory to God the Father...who gives me life,

The Holy Spirit...who gives me courage,

And Jesus the Son...who gives me purpose!!!

While standing alone in the open spaces, on the summer breeze, I feel

the breath of God.

Prologue

Through the open window Elizabeth heard the night breeze as it flowed past the treetops. The soft whoosh, which would have lifted her curtains had she finished them, brought with it the scents of woods and water. Matthew, lying warm and near, slept quietly. Even now, as a married woman, she found sharing a bed with her new husband a novel experience in so many ways.

She listened closely to Matthew’s soft breathing, proof that she wasn’t in the center of a wonderful dream. Never would she have imagined, on that summer day just two years ago that she, a heartbroken teacher, could find the love she now shared. Leaving Ohio, the only world she knew had been the catalyst to this life.

Elizabeth turned to face his form so near. She yearned to reach out, to touch Matthew, to lay her head against his chest and hear the calming thump, thump, thump of his heart, but she refrained from waking him. How hard her husband, who stood so tall and straight, worked. For though the mill nearby slept through the night, Matthew had labored long hours within the thrumming structure. Hard days of heavy lifting and carefully operating the countless gears and shafts, not to mention the grand water wheel that turned the stones and ground corn or wheat, each in their season.

Yes, Matthew needed his rest, and more, deserved it.

Their new life in Misty Creek would be idyllic if not for the memory of Leon Simns, the short grubby farmer that had hated the school and her, its teacher. She would never forget how Simns had stood lurking about and spying on the class from the school yard on multiple occasions. Elizabeth should have taken his threats seriously, and Matthew had paid dearly for her failing.

Simns had caught her unaware as she walked the path beneath the trees, not much more than a mile north of the bed she shared with Matthew. The tall man, long before he became her husband, had saved her from Simns’ vile hands that May afternoon. Now as she viewed Matthew’s silhouette in the late night’s dimness, her mind flashed to the image of his wounded form beneath the trees. Elizabeth closed her eyes attempting to push that memory aside, fearing her involuntary tremble would wake her man.

Matthew rolled onto his back. Snoring proved he slept, peacefully she hoped.

But on this particular night, Elizabeth felt no peace. Matthew had nearly died. Simns’ knife had nearly completed the evil man’s task. It was but the first time Simns had attempted to end the miller of Misty Creek’s life. There had been two others. She found the darkest parts of the night were the times was when Leon Simns haunted her most. Times, while Matthew slept at her side, when a shadow crossed the open window, or the eerie hoot came in out of the night, Elizabeth was reminded of a world not as peaceful as it seemed. Tonight, it was the coyote’s call, much nearer than ever before, that released the memories of Leon Simns. Would the man always remain a dark cloud that haunted and caused her to catch her breath? Twice as she slept, when the image of the man leering down on her that hot August afternoon only weeks ago burst into her mind, Elizabeth’s muscles had snapped, waking her husband.

Each time Matthew had asked sleepily, What’s the matter?

It’s only a bad dream, she had answered, hoping it was enough.

Both times he had opened his arm and held her close. Both times she had hated herself for not telling the man she loved the truth.

Only once Matthew had asked if Simns had said anything the moments before he was killed by his own rifle. Her answer then was yes, but that she did not understand what Simns had meant. It was the truth and yet as the weeks passed she had seen the look in her husband’s eyes, a look she believed asked are you ready to tell me more of what that crazed man said. She had not.

Though she had not shared those few words Leon Simns had said the instant before his death, the moment of his last attempt to murder Matthew, most nights, in the darkness, when the world around her was most still, were those times when Simns’ shout echoed in her head, this one’s for Billy.

Part 1

Accusations

Chapter 1

Elizabeth closed the door of the building that was both a one room schoolhouse and the only church in the valley known as Misty Creek.

The first day of school had ended in the white-painted structure that stood among the oak trees on the lakeshore, and she felt content at how the day had unfolded. One could not expect much educational progress after a long break. It would take a few days to reestablish boundaries and rein in the boisterous youngsters.

Elizabeth had to smile when she thought about Mark Tomkins bringing his pet to school. Of course, the lad knew that bringing in an animal, even a favorite snake, would not be allowed. She had sent him out to return the slithering, striped creature to the box that held him—in his father’s barn. It seemed Lisa Tomkins, Mark’s mother, was no more accepting of Sammy, that’s what Mark had named the beast, than Elizabeth. On the boy’s return, she reminded him and the rest of the class that their pets must remain at home, and warned that stricter penalties would be required if that rule was broken. A look of sadness spread over the faces of the younger boys. Perhaps they thought that Mark had set a precedent. That they too could bring a favored cat, dog, or as Elizabeth had heard, Howard Cline’s crow to the classroom.

The door closed with a familiar click and she turned to go down the three steps. She would walk across the dam and bridges to the mill and share the day’s events with Matthew. As she began, a rider approached. The tall slender golden-brown steed ambled easily in her direction. The rider, a man dressed in work clothes with caramel brown trousers and a rust-colored shirt beneath his brown vest, pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop at her side. Young Will Clark, the son of the school board president, looked down upon her with his dark brooding eyes, which were shaded by the black hat he always wore.

Elizabeth glanced to the west and the road. Will, your sister has gone home.

For a moment he did not answer. She wondered if he still held fast to the vow he made last spring. A promise that he would never speak to her. He looked down the road, the way his half-sister had gone, and returned his dark eyes to her. She knows the way. His words were flat.

Elizabeth became uncomfortable beneath his stare. She turned toward the mill. I must be going.

Again, he did not immediately respond. When Elizabeth began to move on her way, she heard him say, Folks say you had some trouble coming in from Thimble.

Elizabeth froze, drew a deep breath and turned to face him. Yes, Will, we were attacked.

She looked up, trying to see the least inflection on the man’s face, but there was nothing. No one will need to fear Leon Simns any longer. Her voice not nearly as strong as she had hoped.

He continued to stare down at her, his lips straight and his brows drawn slightly. You killed him.

Only three words but she stepped back, for it felt like a slap across her face. No, I did not!

Without blinking, Will shot back. The miller then—he killed Simns.

Now Elizabeth felt her face grow hot. No, Will, Simns was killed with his own rifle by his own hands.

The young rancher rocked a bit and leaned slightly in her direction. I heard that you said it was an accident.

Elizabeth’s anger was rising. He did not intend to shoot himself, if that is what you mean. She glared back at the pompous man sitting high on his magnificent horse. When Simns tried to crush Matthew’s skull, his gun went off.

Will looked away, again glancing down the road ahead of him. That’s what you want people to believe.

It is what happened! Elizabeth shouted.

His eyes turned toward her. Say what you like, if it helps you sleep.

Are you calling me a liar?

The slightest hint of a smile crossed his lips. If the shoe fits.

Now Elizabeth stood trembling in her rage. How dare you, William Clark Jr., how dare you? She paused only long enough to catch her breath. Did you see what happened that afternoon? Were you spying, hoping that Simns would succeed?

The man did not answer.

Elizabeth’s mind raced. Thousands of thoughts passed through her head. She prepared to ask the question that had haunted her since that sunny August afternoon. But even as her lips began to form the first words, Will spurred his horse and dashed away leaving her standing alone as his dust surrounded her.

She coughed as she watched Will ride out of sight. What on earth was Will insinuating? Were there others that thought that she or Matthew held some sort of responsibility for the terrible events along the road that day? And if there were, what was the source of that rumor and who would benefit from it spreading? She shook her head. God knew the truth, and so did all the people who really mattered here in the valley.

Elizabeth began again, her steps leading toward the mill, wondering what she should tell Matthew about the bizarre accusations Will had made. By the time she had reached the far bridge with the sound of the water tumbling over the rocky spillway, she decided not to tell Matthew anything just yet.

The mill, a massive post and beam structure of three stories wrapped with red painted wood, was bustling with activity. The whole building trembled with the massive stones at their work. The sounds of gears, belts, and all the shafts spinning in their bearings was familiar, as was the scent of flour carried within the dust filled air. Eldon glanced up, first to notice her standing just inside the open door. With a smile on his face, whitened by his work, he drove an elbow into Matthew’s ribs. Her husband’s face showed confusion as he looked to the man who worked at his side. But that expression soon dissolved, washed away by a smile so genuine the flour that coated his face and hair could not hide his joy.

Matthew waved for Elizabeth to come closer, and she was pleased to do so. It seems, sir, she began, you have been busy today.

Matthew’s eyes sparkled. Yes, Beth, it’s a big order we have been trying to put together.

The one you want to ship out next week?

He nodded. But more, we need to make space. Corn harvest won’t be long now, and we’ll need the room for that too.

Elizabeth knew that as well. So, Ben will be taking the order to Thimble Tuesday?

Matthew looked as if he would wrap his arm around her to hold her close, but seeing the white powder that covered him dropped his arm. His chest fell at the thought, it seemed. He slid his hand along his trouser absentmindedly, his eyes on hers. It’ll take four wagons to ship out this order.

Elizabeth blinked. Four?

Matthew nodded. It’s the biggest order we have filled in the last two years.

Elizabeth considered what her husband had said. Then Ben will not be alone. The idea gave her some comfort.

I know what you’re thinkin’, Beth. Matthew’s smile revealed the tiny dimples in his cheeks. "It’ll be good that at least this time Ben’ll not be going by himself.

She wouldn’t deny it. Thimble, the railhead, was a full day’s wagon ride away. It would please Leah, Ben’s wife and her dearest friend, the Cowboy Pastor, would not be required to travel on his own.

Who will the other drivers be?

Matthew’s smile vanished. Well, Angus will be taking one, and I will be at the reins of another. He paused a moment as his eyes studied her. Since I need Eldon here to manage things, we’ll need another driver. I haven’t lined up who the fourth driver’s gonna be.

Fear swept through her at the idea of Matthew going across the open country. And though she tried to suppress the shudder that came with those thoughts, his dusty arm came and held her, his earlier restraint abandoned. We’ll be going together, he said as if reading her mind. But how could he know her thoughts—completely? For Matthew had not heard the words, which though spoken more than a month before, still caused her to wonder—and to fear.

Will you be coming home for supper then? she asked.

He leaned in and kissed her hair. I can take some time, but I’ll need to come back and finish this part of the order.

Eldon can come as well.

Thank you, Mrs. S. The older man who had always been more than a hired helper, had heard her invitation. But I’ll work a bit more before I hurry home to my own.

Of course, Eldon. She returned his smile. Pass my greetings to Clara and the children.

He nodded, and she slid out from Matthew’s dusty arm and made her way home.

Elizabeth would simply have been hopeless as a homemaker had it not been for the tireless and patient training by Alberta Baughman. For two years she had boarded at the Baughmans’ farm, and found the older couple full of life and love. They had helped her in so many ways, and teaching her to cook was not the least. Now as Elizabeth found herself in the kitchen of her little house, she looked out the window and across the water. And though she knew she needed to continue the task of readying Matthew’s supper, she felt called to take a few steps beyond the walls of her home.

The September day was warm; the sun would soon set and the air would cool. Here as she came to the very edge of the lake some might call a large mill pond, her mind swelled once again over her thoughts about the dangers of life in the not-quite-settled lands. Thoughts about how Leon Simns had attacked her and Matthew—he would have killed them both, if things had gone differently. Those violent minutes of infinite length haunted her still—might haunt her forever. As would the secret she held, born during that awful time.

As her eyes flowed across the water she wondered, why was it she did not trust herself to tell Matthew everything about that attack? To tell him what Simns had said in his final moments and more, what his words had implied. That there were others that hated Matthew, hated him enough to harm him. And among those was someone named Billy. She must tell her man that he was in danger, and going out among the open spaces of the grasslands only placed him in greater peril.

Or did she not trust her husband of only two months? Would Matthew ridicule her worry as merely a woman’s folly? Elizabeth doubted Matthew would chuckle at her expense. It wasn’t his way, at least never a facet of himself he had shown. Perhaps he might, she whispered to herself as her eyes swept over the expanse before her. No, she thought, shaking her head, he would not take her words as nonsense.

Maybe that was the real reason she had not told him everything. Perhaps that was the reason Simns last actions and words had become such a painful secret she continued to harbor. To steal away from Matthew. He will believe, she whispered to the water, and believing he will act. Elizabeth pursed her lips as she glanced the mill’s direction. And I’m afraid of what Matthew will do and who will surely end up injured. It was her man’s way, to respond by actions. But actions might not be the best if we do not know the whole truth of it, her words came stronger. I can’t tell Matthew, not yet. Not until I know who helped Simns...and why.

But for now, she needed to prepare the man’s supper. Waiting would mean he would just need to work later into the night to finish. And later would not be better.

They had eaten hours ago, and the small watch within the locket she wore, a locket her father had given, told her it was nearing ten o’clock. The hour was very late for the Sonnefelts. Matthew had only just returned and stood washing at the kitchen sink.

I forgot to ask, he began, how did school go?

Elizabeth watched her dusty husband from the doorway separating the kitchen from the parlor. It went well.

He stopped, glanced over his shoulder. How often he seemed to read her thoughts. Was this one of those moments?

Elizabeth drew a breath. Matthew, she began, are there people in the valley that… she paused unable to bring herself to say the words want to harm you.

Matthew pulled the towel off the hanger ran it across his face. His eyes searched hers. He stretched an arm to hang the towel while he continued to stare. His lips became straight as his brows lowered slightly. Are there people that do not like me? he responded at last. How he had come to the crux of her question no longer surprised her. You’ve heard talk.

She nodded weakly, not wishing to tell from whose lips those words had escaped.

Matthew glanced toward the ceiling an instant before returning his gaze to her while he leaned against the kitchen counter. I’d hoped to keep you from hearing those things Beth. His lip twitched. Most is just words, nothing more.

But there may be some that wish to hurt you.

He looked away, his chest rose and fell. I’m sure that Margret Simns would be very pleased to see us hurt or more.

Elizabeth looked down. She blames us for her troubles.

In general, yes, but she feels certain we’re responsible for her husband’s death.

Elizabeth wondered to herself if there might be others in the valley that did not think that Simns died by his own hands.

Matthew moved across the room and wrapped his arms around her. Elizabeth felt the power of his embrace and for a fleeting moment did not doubt his strength. But dark thoughts of past events returned doubt from its hiding, and fear came back with reinforcements. She trembled.

Matthew’s squeeze showed he had noticed. What have you heard, Beth?

Just rumors mostly. Words I wasn’t supposed to hear.

You’ve never placed any stock in such talk.

It was true. How often had she stressed to her young charges the emptiness of words spread by well lubricated tongues whose only purpose was the spread of hearsay, for the spreading’s sake? And now she was allowing those same type of words to sprout seeds of fear in her. But it was more than the words she heard this day that troubled her, and what Simns had said seemed more than mere gossip.

But sometimes rumors are words that take root, she whispered into his shoulder.

I suppose that’s true, his words a rumble deep inside his chest. People want to believe the bad. It’s harder to see the good side of things, and not as much fun.

Elizabeth pushed herself back enough to look into her husband’s face. What has fun got to do with it?

Matthew’s face remained grim. There’s a joy in takin’ a body down a notch, it raises themselves up a click. His jaw twisted a bit. Few enjoy looking up to those set on pedestals, Beth.

It would be worse if you thought it was you that belonged above others instead.

You’d be want’n’ the cheering someone else is getting’, Matthew said as he nodded slowly,

Like young Will Clark. The words came out soft as a thought not meant to be spoken.

Now it was Matthew that looked deep into her eyes. It was him that told you.

She nodded.

Chapter 2

Even in a pearl of a place like the valley known as Misty Creek, time moves on. The days swept along to reach the first light of Tuesday morning. With breakfast long behind them, Elizabeth drew her shawl tighter in the early morning chill, as she stood outside the mill. The men had just finished loading all four of Matthew’s freight wagons. The grand horses had been led from Matthew’s barn and were harnessed and hitched. With the loads tied down and covered, everything was prepared.

Elizabeth waved as the first wagon with Ben at the reins began rumbling on its way. The cowboy preacher gave a nod and a wink to Elizabeth as he passed.

She strode the few steps to stand near Matthew while he straightened the reins on the pair of massive grays harnessed to the wagon he would be driving.

Matthew, she began. He paused his work and looked her way. You will be careful.

The miller gave a quick nod. That I will, Beth. He returned to his work. I’ll not make the same mistake I made in August.

Mistake? She thought.

With his hands busy methodically sliding along straps and buckles Matthew continued. I should have seen Simns. Should have noticed the man long before he attacked us.

Elizabeth took a step closer, touched his elbow prompting him to turn toward her. She saw dampness in the man’s eyes and would have offered a smile if she was able. It wasn’t your fault, she said, her words even. The man ambushed us.

Matthew’s eyes settled on hers. If I’d paid better attention he wouldn’t have.

Leaning in, Elizabeth resting her forehead upon his chest. Please be on your guard.

There’s four of us, my love. She felt his words rumble. We’ll watch out for each other.

Yes, Ben had told her as much, but the memory of Simns hiding among the tall grass, his sudden appearance, and the shots he fired their way, was too fresh.

I wish you’d stay at the Baughmans. Matthew’s words broke her thoughts.

Elizabeth shook her head firmly. That is our home. She pointed to the house nearby. It’s where we live. It’s where I will stay.

Heading out, Matthew, Angus Taylor, the stocky farmer shouted as the second wagon began its journey.

Matthew waved his arm, but said nothing.

I’d rest easier if you were across the lake. Matthew continued his request for her staying with their friends.

And I’ll rest easier when your back, she replied.

Chas Hoster was climbing on the third wagon. We need to get a move on, the man said as he snapped the reins and, with a creak and a groan, the heavily loaded wagon began its motion.

You need to get started. Elizabeth’s voice carried no conviction.

Matthew kissed her cheek. I’ll go when I know you’re ready for me to leave.

Elizabeth looked up at Matthew. I’ll be fine. You had best be going.

His lips twisted as his eyes searched hers, then, with a quick nod, he turned and climbed aboard the last wagon.

From his seat he released the brake and took hold of the reins. Looking down toward her Matthew said, You know Simns can’t harm anyone, not anymore.

Elizabeth closed her eyes a moment. No, she thought, Leon Simns would never again be a threat. But there might be others. Standing her tallest, she straightened her shoulders and with a clear voice, pleaded, Promise me you will come home safe.

I’ll do my best, Beth. Matthew touched the brim of his hat, snapped the reins and set out.

His words did not offer the promise she longed to hear. But Matthew never made promises he could not absolutely be certain of keeping. Her eyes blurred as the wagon rolled on the beginning of its long journey with her tall husband’s leather-gloved hands at the controls. Lord, keep Matthew safe, she whispered to the wind and the brightening sky above.

The day had scarcely begun and even though the wagon that carried her husband was yet in view, Elizabeth felt alone. The morning air seemed colder as she readjusted her shawl to cover her ears from the morning breeze. Now as she watched the wagon carry Matthew farther and farther away, their separation became real. Elizabeth shook her head—these partings were only temporary separations. How many times had Leah waved to Ben in just the same way? Why, even now the cowboy preacher was nearly across the lake and would soon be bidding goodbye to his wife and three children.

Moving slowly in the same direction the wagons had gone, Elizabeth watched as Matthew passed the schoolhouse, the building that was also their church. Soon he would turn the team and go south along the lake’s western shore. She walked the east-west road that was built upon the top of the dam that impeded Misty Creek. The dam that held back the water, flooding the lower part of the valley and forming the lake.

Standing on the bridge that crossed the west spillway, where now only a small trickle dribbled downward to the northerly bound creek bed, Elizabeth looked across the length of the lake toward the small settlement called Misty Creek. Far off she saw a wagon, no more than a speck in the distance, parked in front of a modest house she knew well, the home of the Smiths.

Elizabeth shaded her eyes as she watched the second wagon leave the trees along the western lakeshore and soon came to a halt behind Ben’s wagon. Almost the exact moment the second wagon stopped, the third wagon escaped the trees and approached the others.

Watching, as if by observing, Elizabeth could also be part of the event unfolding nearly two miles away, for surely Matthew could not be far behind.

The September morning air was beginning to warm. Elizabeth noticed that the colors of the eastern sky were fading, a sign that the day had surely begun. She shifted her eyes to focus on a small house that stood along the lakeshore. A house that should not be standing there. A house that replaced the structure Matthew had built, for them. No, this house was erected by the loving hardworking hands of neighbors that managed to assemble it while Matthew had gone east.

For when Matthew had gone to wed a teacher, only a charred foundation remained of the house he had built. How surprised the teacher and the miller had been when they returned to find that beautiful house waiting.

Yes, it took a community to build her home. And as Elizabeth’s eyes returned to the wagons across the water, she was reminded of the caliber of all those that were her neighbors and friends. Among them were decent men like Angus, Chas, and Rev. Ben.

As Matthew’s wagon emerged from the trees, a small smile came to her lips. Yes, Elizabeth thought, I can trust Matthew’s safety with those men. Indeed, she could.

Elizabeth remained there on the bridge until the four wagons began to move once again. The caravan proceeded east, passing the unpainted front of Peabody’s Mercantile. Elizabeth watched as the caravan moved past the large home of Harold and Martha Peabody. Soon they would leave the cluster of buildings that made up the town. Eleanor Lewis’ home was the easternmost home, and only a short distance from the bridge crossing the small stream of water called Misty Creek, the source of the lake’s water. The four wagons would be out of sight once they crossed and only beginning the journey to Thimble and the railroad depot there.

Yes, Elizabeth knew the route. She had traveled along those dust strips called a road five times. Each crossing had reminded her of the vast uninhabited grasslands, the broad prairie with its tall windblown grass. She shivered at the memory of how she and Matthew had been brutally attacked on their last crossing, just last month.

The thought that her husband would soon pass that exact spot without her by his side just added to her unease. Elizabeth was grateful her man did not travel alone. No, she reminded herself, there was safety in numbers. She had to believe in that hypothesis. To trust its truth.

But the sky had brightened, and the sun had climbed high enough to peek through the treetops to the east. It would be hours before Matthew and the others crossed the Saddle. And as Elizabeth forced herself to take comfort in the fact that, though she could not be with him, Matthew did not travel alone, she needed to prepare for her students and the school day ahead.

It seemed to Elizabeth, in any case, that every clock she observed came to a near standstill with Matthew’s departure. She trudged through her obligations, found it difficult at times to concentrate on her teaching. As her eyes scanned the students of her class, she could not accept that one of their parents wanted Matthew dead.

But Simns could not have remained nearby for all those months without someone’s assistance. Perhaps the aide of several. Each day Elizabeth’s mind would go back to how Leon Simns had told of the friends he had in the valley. And each day she couldn’t help but wonder who Leon’s friends might be.

Elizabeth had to push those thoughts aside. Besides, who was to say there was any real truth to the crazy man’s words? Likely, even though the words had come from the man’s own lips, they were little more than the rumors meant to drive logic out the window.

Perhaps.

Now was not the time to consider the validity of such things, for Elizabeth had a room full of children to teach.

As difficult as it was Elizabeth forced those ideas to where they belonged, far from her mind’s center, and the day passed. And the following days would pass as well. But when the children had clambered out of the classroom. When the chalkboard had been cleaned. When she finished grading the assignments. When she closed the door and made her way down the three steps and toward home, that’s when the clock’s hands ceased their appointed journey. Or so it seemed.

The day would end soon, and the little house on the lake’s shore would become too quiet. Even on the nights when Matthew worked late, the rumble of the mill gave proof of life. But with Eldon working alone, he finished his day shortly after school closed. Though he wandered to her door to say his goodbye, with his departure the world that surrounded seemed scarcely breathing. Only the sound of the leaves high above, driven to move to and fro by the breeze, the wind that always seemed to blow, reminded her that the world’s respiration continued.

And so did God.

It was difficult at times to remember that truth. As often as not, it was Matthew that reminded her of God’s ever-presence. Now as the day ended and the sky had surrendered its last traces of red and gold, she found herself near the water’s edge, counting the first stars that pierced the growing darkness. How often Matthew had taken her hand and led her beneath the stars, while they wandered the north country of Dakota, the open grasslands of Kansas, or here in this very valley. He had told of his young years, a boy and on his own. He had thought the stars his friends then. Perhaps they were his friends still. Matthew had said that if the stars were nearer to him here in the open country, then God would be nearer as well.

Thoughts of a child that had grown to become her man.

Yes, God was near, stars or no. And as surely as the stars began to shine above her, they would look down on Matthew—a tall man—and he would know that God was nearer than his next breath. And remember that she loved him too.

Elizabeth looked up to the brilliant lights above and prayed again that God, the Master of the Universe, would keep her Matthew safe from any harm.

Teaching was Elizabeth’s escape. Well, mostly in any case. There were so many things that demanded her constant attention, other thoughts could scarcely bob to the surface of her mind. Wednesday, Mark Tomkins had asked, Teacher, how do hawks keep from falling out of the sky? The boy looked downward, shifting his eyes about the class room as all the other students turned his way.

Don’t you think it should be able to fly? she had asked, knowing Mark well enough to understand that he had more to say.

Mark shifted in his seat as Elizabeth waited. I guess so, but hawks...and buzzards too, they hang up there hardly flapping. I thought a bird had to use their wings to keep from tumbling down.

It’s their wings and how the air—

Jeremiah, did I give you permission to speak? Elizabeth tried to look stern, but was not certain she had succeeded. Truth was that Jeremiah Hahn, one of her older students, was among her brightest.

No, ma’am. Jeremiah’s cheeks began to flush as he looked down toward his desktop fumbling his pencil.

Truth is Mark, you ask a very good question, for I do not understand how any bird flies. But Jeremiah might be able to tell us all a bit more. Elizabeth gave Jeremiah just the hint of a smile when he glanced up her way. Perhaps you might tell us what you mean, Jeremiah?

The boy stood at his desk. Like I said, it has to do with their wings and how they move.

But that’s my point, Mark stammered. Hawks don’t always move their wings, but still keep floating along.

Flapping their wings, Jeremiah began again, isn’t what I mean. It’s how the wings cut through the air that matters.

Think of your kite, Mark, Elizabeth added. It doesn’t flutter to stay up either.

You haven’t seen Mark fly a kite, Rachael Smith chuckled. It flutters.

When he can get it to fly at all. The whole room erupted in laughter at Michael Lee’s remark.

While Mark’s cheeks flushed deeper, Elizabeth became stern. "There was no need for those remarks about your fellow student’s talents. Perhaps if one of you had made any effort to help Mark with his kite, he would have been more successful." The class fell silent.

Jeremiah, still standing, nodded. But kite flying is not the same, the boy struggled, same process. Jeremiah smiled pleased he found what he felt was the correct word. A kite is more like the sail on a boat. The wind pushes against it and the line keeps the kite from just goin’ off. The boy paused, his eyes moving about beneath his furrowed brow. Looking toward his teacher with a smile he said, Next time the wind blows real hard, Mark, Jeremiah turned the boy’s direction, hold out your hand. Feel how, when you hold your hand flat or tilt it, the air pushes it up or down. Jeremiah stretched out his own arm as an example.

As Elizabeth guided the soon broadening discussion, there was a smile on her lips. Yes, the lessons she had planned for the afternoon were, for the most part, in the wash. But these moments were so rare. Moments when children’s minds opened to new concepts. When the students accepted ideas as something that could be openly discussed. Yes, to Elizabeth that was what education was really about. It had to be more than just memorizing historical facts, multiplication tables, spelling words, or sentence structure. As the talk continued on whether anything that could not be seen was real, she beamed at her students. It was moments like these that were the best part of teaching.

Perhaps Elizabeth had been distracted, for she did not notice the buggy in front of the school building, as she closed the door with another day of teaching completed. Having given the vehicle no notice, Elizabeth jumped when she looked down upon Mrs. Eleanor Lewis moving with as much grace as her round form would allow. Eleanor, in a dress the color of the pale summer sky, smiled only a moment, allowing the expression to fade as if she remembered something distasteful, perhaps.

Elizabeth descended the steps, less than pleased. Eleanor was the closest thing Misty Creek had to a Town Crier, a gossip actually, who always had stories about one person or another. Elizabeth found herself scanning for an escape route. How many times had the woman, in passing, tugged on the teacher’s arm with a collection of tales nearly as broad as the prairie itself, Elizabeth didn’t dare to consider. But never, never had Eleanor come directly to Elizabeth, and that made this encounter unique.

Eleanor’s thick fingers reached for Elizabeth’s hand, and though the teacher thought of resisting the gesture, she accepted the offer.

I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sonnefelt, Eleanor began. I haven’t been by to offer my congratulations.

Congratulations?

Eleanor’s blue eyes sparkled. On your marriage.

Thank you, Eleanor, but I—

Of course, dear. the short broad woman looked about, I felt it important to let you know what I have been hearing.

Elizabeth hated gossip.

I don’t put any stock into these stories, the woman continued.

But that doesn’t stop you from sharing them, Elizabeth thought.

It has to do with the trouble you had coming home last month. The woman began again.

There was that word trouble again. As if Simns attack and death was just some minor difficulty. That was a very bad day, Eleanor, I would rather not discuss it. Turning, the teacher found that Eleanor yet held on to her hand and evidently had no intention of releasing it.

Eleanor leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. I certainly can understand, but there’s been talk.

Elizabeth shook her head slightly. There always seemed to be talk, whether in this valley or anywhere people gathered.

But you should know, Elizabeth. You don’t mind if I still call you Elizabeth do you, now that you’re married I mean.

Though Elizabeth couldn’t care less, she did not answer.

I hear there are people that do not believe. She leaned in closer still and whispered. They don’t believe it was an accident.

Elizabeth stepped back so quickly she nearly tugged Eleanor off her feet. The woman released Elizabeth’s hand and straightened.

But it was! Elizabeth’s words were cold.

Oh, I know that, dear. I never doubted, no never. Again, Eleanor glanced left and right. But some think that it would not be possible for Mr. Simns to shoot himself with a rifle.

His own rifle.

Eleanor nodded forcefully. They said if it was his hand gun, well maybe, but a long gun?

Elizabeth closed her eyes as images of that afternoon flashed in her mind. Eleanor, surely you can understand I do not wish to speak of that day.

I don’t blame you, dear. But the stories are gaining believers and I thought you and Mr. Sonnefelt should know.

Thank you, but I must be—

Yes, yes, Elizabeth, you have your home to care for. Of course, I couldn’t begin to get along without my Bessie; you should really consider getting a housekeeper, with teaching and all. The woman nodded with such vigor that Elizabeth found her eyes open wider. But back to what I was saying. Eleanor’s lips turned downward. Some folks are mad. Furious, more like it.

Elizabeth had not noticed any of her friends or neighbors showing this anger Eleanor spoke about.

Of course, most will get over it by Christmas, I expect. Again, the woman nodded. But for the third time she looked over her shoulder and moved forward to stand very near, whispering, That is except for the Simns family.

Elizabeth knew that Margret Simns blamed her and Matthew for her husband’s death.

But before Elizabeth could either escape or speak, Eleanor released her last barb. Of course, Leon’s boy is maddest of all. They say Billy is angrier than a hive of hornets that have had their nest shook.

Elizabeth straightened, her eyes darted to the trees across the road, and back to the woman that stood so very near. Margret and Leon have a son named Billy? Elizabeth hoped the woman did not hear the tremble in her voice.

Eleanor went on unfazed. Yes, dear, their oldest. You’d think when the boy turned fifteen, they’d call him Bill, but they don’t.

The teacher’s mind raced. Surely this young man was the faceless one whose name Leon had shouted. The unknown person that haunted her dreams.

I thought you had better know, Eleanor said in a more conversational tone. Billy is like his father, mostly, so I couldn’t sleep another night without telling you, dearie. No, I knew I had to tell you what I’d heard.

The woman looked thoughtful a moment. Oh, by the way, the Tomkin’s cow had twins this morning. And—

Thank you for coming all this way, Eleanor, but I must be going. This time Elizabeth did not wait for the woman’s response.

Elizabeth’s first instinct, once she had extricated herself from Eleanor Lewis, was to hurry down to the home of her friend, Leah Smith. Oh, how tempting it was to make her way to the parsonage. Unlike her own home that had remained empty for the day, Leah’s kitchen would likely carry the scent of fresh baking and a kettle hot and ready. Yes, she would enjoy the visit, and the walk would help her process the words that Eleanor had planted in her head. Not that Elizabeth would dwell on Tomkins’ new calves, by no means. Twin calves were not common but, uncommon or not, she found little significance in that news. No, Leah must have heard the rumblings Eleanor implied were all through the valley. And the pastor’s wife could possibly know which families might believe the nonsense about Simns’ death.

But as she charged down the path beneath the trees on the east side of the lake, her racing mind began to slow. There were things she had not told even Leah. How could she explain why Leon having a son named Billy was of any consequence?

Elizabeth stopped and found herself only yards from the bridge. With the East Road nearly in view, she wondered what had driven her to toss good sense aside. Had anything changed? Not really. That is, other than gaining a bit of information, and another Bill to add to her list.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth turned and began the trek home. She would not ignore what she had learned, but now was not the time to panic.

Time passes slowly in a house alone. Elizabeth would have wandered the lakeshore beneath the stars were it not for the comments Eleanor Lewis had made. Though she had worried, continued to worry, about Matthew, he would not be wandering the open land alone after dark. No, he had friends that would be near. Elizabeth believed, truly tried to believe, that Angus, Chas, and most especially Ben would watch over her man.

How bold Elizabeth had been her first night in the valley. Or foolish. Striding gallantly into the night of her new world, she had no knowledge of the risk, the danger. But that was one thing Leon Simns had taught her that threats could move about and harm the unwary.

So, with all the lamps in her house lit, and certain that sleep would not come soon, Elizabeth peeked out her windows at the dark world. From her kitchen she saw the lake shimmering in the half moon’s light, and the dark shape of the mill sleeping not so far away. The breeze entered the open window, carrying the night sounds into the silent house. An owl nearby, its mournful hoots which on other nights might cause a tremble, was a comfort. If any person lurked in the shadows, Mr. Owl would not be so near, or so Elizabeth convinced herself. From the bedroom window, Elizabeth could see the empty corn crib. Harvest would begin in late October, and with it would come the ears that would dry within the crib. But on this Thursday night it was just another silent structure. She next moved to the parlor window and the view there. The stables were within Matthew’s red barn. On the night air Elizabeth thought she heard the whinny of one of the horses. Holding her breath, she tried to notice anything unusual. Only the voice of a watchful owl, the call of the whip-poor-will, and a dog’s warning bark far off came to her ear. Perhaps Elizabeth had only imagined Leo’s neigh. Perhaps.

Some minutes later, with a lamp, Elizabeth strode stealthily to the grand, tall barn, a structure larger than the mill. Opening the door she found Leo and Gabe asleep in their stalls, their world at peace. The eight other stalls empty, signs of four teams off and away. The filled mow above her head added the scent of hay to the normal smells of straw and manure. The blended aroma not distasteful.

Content all was well within the barn, that only field mice and the cats that pursued them moved about on this late hour, Elizabeth closed and fastened the door and returned to her home.

Soon it would be Friday, and Elizabeth knew she would need her sleep. Now content that everything was as it should be, perhaps, just maybe, she would be able to find the rest she needed, alone in a bed she longed to share.

With another week of classes behind her, Elizabeth planned to spend time with her dear friend Leah. She wondered how her friend dealt with the regular absences of her husband. Surely with three energetic children in her home and another on the way, the pastor’s wife had sufficient distractions. Yet Elizabeth remembered one time when Ben had been called away suddenly to Chambers, a settlement far to the west, and how Leah’s concern for his safety was nearly more than the woman could bear.

Somehow Elizabeth, on her own, had made it through the week, and the men were scheduled to return before dark on this very Friday. Now as she prepared to leave the schoolhouse, her obligations completed, she would wait for Matthew’s return. Not because she didn’t have things to do, but because she had reached the point that waiting was all she could do. It was, after all, the first time she had been parted from her husband, and the memories of their last prairie crossing did not leave her at ease.

As Elizabeth closed the schoolhouse door she considered Matthew’s return. The Saddle, a sway in the crest of tall hills that lined the east side of the valley, offered the lowest way east and was where the road entered the valley. Miles away, the Saddle was visible from the town. And though few had eyes sharp enough to notice wagons crossing the Saddle, from there the road led to the collection of structures that locals considered their town. Matthew would pass over the bridge and cross in front of Eleanor Lewis’ house, go past Peabody’s Mercantile and their large home, and then finally reach the parsonage. Matthew would unload Peabody’s order before driving team and wagon the final leg of his journey. The two miles of dusty road, which led at last to their home on the lake’s shore.

The thought of waiting alone felt unbearable. Surely her dear friend Leah, Ben’s wife, would feel the same.

Elizabeth convinced herself that there was no need for Leah to wait alone. No, it would be better to comfort her friend.

She would disregard the fact that Leah was surrounded by her family, a wife anxious for her man was alone enough, and Elizabeth would share her friend’s burden.

So, Elizabeth arrived at the parsonage, which was not the first time since her husband’s departure. After all, what kind of friend would not come visiting during a time like this? She found nine-year-old Mica, the Smiths’ oldest, standing in the front yard, his eyes aimed toward the hills far to the east.

Ma’s expecting you, the lad said without looking her way.

How did you know it was me? Elizabeth smiled, for she had not noticed the boy even glancing her way.

Mica faced her just an instant with a bright smile on his tanned face, before returning his gaze eastward again. Ma wasn’t the only one expecting you’re comin’. Then without turning his head the boy shouted, Ma, teacher’s here!

Elizabeth stifled a chuckle as, shaking her head, she started up the path