Galen's Salvation

By Judith Bozeman

A gifted surgeon, Galen Hall, walked away from the horrors of the Civil War when an orphanage was shelled three days after Lee surrendered to Grant. Ten years later, a young boy is kidnapped from St. Louis and held for ransom. Wade Phelps, a Pinkerton agent, discovers that the child has been brought to Texas and Phelps seeks out Galen to ask for his help recovering the child.

Dutiful daughter Eleanor Trent lives in St. Louis with her father, and she is appalled when he arranges a marriage for Nora to a man she hardly knows. Although she objects, Nora doesn't think it's her place to go against her father wishes. However, after being abandoned by her husband the day after the marriage, Nora discovers that her new husband and her father have used her for reasons that are a complete mystery to her.

Rebelling against her father, Nora travels to Texas to find her missing husband. Once she is in Texas, she meets Galen Hall when she's forcibly taken from her stagecoach. Suspecting that Nora is somehow involved in the child's kidnapping in St. Louis, Galen rescues Nora from the outlaws. Despite their animosity toward one another, they form an uneasy alliance and together they set out to find and save the missing boy before he is sold to the dreaded Comancheros and disappears forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judith Bozeman
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215592489

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Rosedale, near Columbus , Georgia, April 1865

The child was going to die.

Dr. Galen Hall worked feverishly on the little boy lying on the operating table, knowing even before he started the surgery that no matter what he did it wouldn’t be enough to save the boy. He silently prayed to a God he no longer believed in to prove him wrong. He prayed that this small child would make it.

The little boy, who was hardly more than a baby, along with a dozen other children, had been brought to the surgical tent just after day-break this morning. All the children were orphans and the orphanage that housed them in the small town of Rosedale, Ga., had been shelled by the first rounds of the assault. None of the other small victims had survived and Galen was desperate to save this last child.

Another horrific tragedy in this seemingly never-ending war of countryman against countryman.

It was savagely hot inside the surgical tent and after hours of intense surgery, Galen’s hospital apron was stained with blood, revealing a grotesque map of human suffering. Under his woolen uniform, he could feel rivulets of sweat running down his body. Ignoring his discomfort as well as the reeking smell of blood and death in the surgical tent, he blocked out everything else around him so he could focus fully on the job he had to do.

Now and then he could hear the muffled sounds of explosions that told him that somewhere close by the fighting was still going on. All too soon more casualties would be brought in.

Before the shelling began, the Commander of the Union forces, Colonel Wade Phelps, attempted to negotiate an agreeable surrender so the town could be secured without the need for bloodshed. Colonel Phelps, like most everyone else, was tired of this damnable war and he hoped that by surrendering, the residents of Rosedale and his men would be spared unnecessary casualties.

Unfortunately, the town leaders had adamantly refused his offer.

Disgusted by the stubborn old men who refused to acknowledge that they were surrounded, outnumbered, and didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of driving back the Union forces, Colonel Phelps gave his men the order to secure the town. He also gave the order that field hospitals be prepared in anticipation of the casualties that would naturally occur. Being an honorable man, he issued strict orders that any casualties that came in, Union or Confederate, were to be treated equally.

Like a good soldier, Galen agreed with the Commander’s decision and then prepared for the casualties.

When the first assault began, Galen stoically tended the wounded and tried his best to save what lives he could in a tent that quickly became a beehive of semi-orderly chaos.

However, he wasn’t prepared when children began to arrive.

He had been horrified by the sight of the children and now, after ten fruitless hours, he desperately wanted to save this last, precious child.

He was concentrating so hard he was able to ignore the roar of voices and the agonizing screams surrounding him, desperately knowing that he didn’t dare allow himself to be distracted. It wasn't until he felt someone firmly grip his shoulder that he turned, furious at the interruption.

"What the hell do you want?" he blazed.

Sam Baxter, the orderly who'd been assisting him since the children had been brought in, tightened his hand on Galen's shoulder.

He’s gone, Dr. Hall. We lost him.

Galen stared at Sam with disbelief, then looked back down at the child. It took a moment before he realized that Sam was right. The little boy, this baby, was dead. Now he was just another innocent victim, just another statistic for the lists.

With tears in his eyes, the first tears he’d allowed himself since he’d joined this blasted army, Galen watched Sam pull a bloody sheet over the small body.

Go get some rest, Dr. Hall, Sam advised. I’ll take care of...., he made a vague gesture with his head.

His legs wobbling with fatigue, Galen shuffled past rows of men on cots who had been brought in earlier. Mentally shutting out the cries of human suffering that was ingrained in this living nightmare, he headed for the tent that he shared with the two other surgeons who were under Col. Phelps' command.

The tent had been his makeshift home for the last three years as the Union Army traveled deeper and deeper through the increasingly wasted southland. When Galen finally got there he sat down on his cot and stared down at his hands. They were covered in blood.

The blood of the children mixed with the blood of countless others.

He was unaware of how long he sat staring at his hands and when he finally looked up he realized that it was almost dark. Suddenly it occurred to him how quiet it was and he looked around in wonder. The shelling had finally stopped.

Stiffly he got up and lit the oil lamp, then he removed his blood-stained apron and poured water in the washbasin. Intently, he scrubbed his hands until they were almost raw. It didn't help. In his mind, he could still see the blood.

Dr. Hall?

Galen turned and saw Sam standing at the flap that served as a door. Sam’s haunted eyes were red from the tears streaming down his cheeks.

It was all for nothing, Sam said, his voice quavering. Those children, all the men who died today, it was all for nothing. A rider came in a little while ago to report that General Lee surrendered to General Grant three days ago at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia.

Galen felt the blood in his veins turn to ice water. Thank you, Sam. Thank you for telling me, he said woodenly.

Sam stood hesitantly at the door, as though unsure what to do. Finally, he shook his head sorrowfully and left. Once Sam was gone, Galen stood frozen, staring vacantly at the far wall of the tent. When he finally moved he quietly began gathering his belongings. After several minutes, satisfied that he had everything he wanted, he strapped on the sidearm that the army had issued when he signed up and stepped out of the tent.

Expecting to feel the heat of the day, he was momentarily bemused by the cool evening air. Then, glancing over at the now quiet surgical tent he thought of his instruments. They were a gift from his mother when he finished his medical training and for a moment he was torn. Then he decided it didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned he wouldn't ever need those instruments again.

Dr. Galen Hall no longer existed.

Galen went to the temporary livery where the horses were tethered and after saddling his horse, he mounted and rode away from the encampment. As he rode away it occurred to him that there was a good possibility that he could be shot by a stray Confederate who hadn't heard of the truce, or more likely, the Army would have him arrested and shot for desertion. Certainly, his father would be furious by the embarrassment he would bring down on the family name.

As with his instruments, none of that mattered. It had been four years since he'd willingly walked into this hellish nightmare. Now he was going home.

Home. Home meant Philadelphia and the house where he grew up, where his family was waiting for him. Just the idea of home danced tantalizingly in front of him. He was going back to a place where men didn't die screaming in agony; a place where children could laugh, play, and sleep innocently in their beds without getting blown to bits.

Only there would he be able to forget the insanity of the last four years and maybe put the war behind him. Only there could he learn how to be a human being again.

His only thought was to get home to Philadelphia where life was normal.

CHAPTER ONE

St. Louis, Missouri , March 1876

But, Papa, I don't want to marry Simon Faraday.

That’s enough! I'm sick to death of listening to your whining, Eleanor, Horace Trent said testily. The matter is settled.

The anger in her father’s voice silenced his daughter completely and Eleanor stared at him in dismay. She didn't feel as though she'd been whining and as far as she was concerned nothing was settled.

However, when Horace made up his mind no one argued with him, certainly not his mousy, old maid daughter. Even though the idea of marrying Simon Faraday, or for that matter any man she hardly knew, was terrifying, Eleanor meekly obeyed. As was expected.

Seeing the stricken look on her face, Horace relented somewhat. My dear Eleanor, I should think the news would make you very happy, he said, not unkindly. Simon Faraday is a handsome, wealthy man. There are dozens of young, pretty girls available, but he picked you instead.

She winced at her father's cruel words, though she didn't take offense. She knew he hadn't intentionally hurt her feelings and she had to admit that he was right. She couldn’t be considered young as she was almost thirty-years-old, nor was she married which meant that technically she was available. Lastly, there wasn’t anyone who would ever consider her pretty.

What bothered her more than it should was the fact that her father refused to call her Nora. It was a small, silly thing to be bothered about, but it was the nickname given to her by her mother and she treasured it. It was, she felt, the one thing that made her special. It would mean so much if her father cared enough to call her Nora.

Not for the first time, Nora wished she could be more like her mother. Her mother had been exceptionally beautiful and much admired. Unfortunately for Nora though, no matter how much she tried to be like her mother by her actions, she was always judged first by her looks.

While she'd inherited her mother's flaming red hair, her hair had none of her mother's sleek flamboyant beauty. Nora's natural curls were wild and unruly, nothing at all like her mother’s. To appear more sedate and ladylike, Nora always wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Still, as though it had a mind of its own, her hair tended to slip from its pins leaving an impression of general untidiness. In her own opinion, not even in her wildest dreams could her looks compare to her mother’s beauty.

Besides, Nora was far too thin and she felt her only redeeming quality was her clear green eyes which she'd also inherited from her mother. As she was very shy, Nora tended to keep her gaze downcast whenever she was around anyone outside of the family so most of the time this wonderful quality was seldom noticed.

While her mother was alive Nora hadn't been so conscious of her looks, nor was she shy. As a child she had dismissed the sedate young girls in her social set as not much fun, preferring instead to ride her pony and climb trees. It was not uncommon for her to come in from play with her red curls flying in all directions, mud splatters on her dress, and torn stockings drooping around her ankles.

Horace, who usually ignored his only child, regrettably chose those times to take notice of her. Then he would complain bitterly that she was a disgrace. Nora always submissively apologized and then disregarded the scolding until the next time her father decided to exercise his paternal duty. Jane Trent had been more tolerant of her daughter's escapades and while she wouldn't gainsay her husband aloud, Nora was secure in the knowledge that her mother’s love was unconditional.

You are going to be very pretty one day, my little Nora. Jane’s gentle voice had sustained her throughout her early childhood.

Regrettably, Jane died when Nora was a gangling twelve-year-old. She had been devastated and then subdued by the death of her mother. As there weren’t any close adult female relations to take on the task of overseeing such a rambunctious child, Horace turned his daughter over to the housekeeper, Mrs. Dobbs, and it was she who guided young Nora through the treacherous waters of adolescence.

By the time the Civil War was in its third year, even the upper classes in St. Louis were beginning to feel the strain. Had times been normal, Mrs. Dobbs would have consulted with Horace regarding the need to have Nora attend a Ladies Academy. There she would be instructed in everything a well-bred young lady should know to get along in St. Louis society.

Horace, however, had been wrapped up in his business which was usual for him and weeks could go by when Nora would only occasionally see him at the breakfast table where he paid his daughter scant attention. That left only Mrs. Dobbs to see to Nora’s growing needs and the poor woman was completely out of her element. She did the best she could under difficult circumstances.

Since the task of dressing Nora fell to Mrs. Dobbs, she dressed her young charge as she imagined a young lady should be dressed. Unfortunately, the result was disastrous. The yellow and orange colors that Mrs. Dobbs loved clashed miserably with Nora’s coloring and the long, fluttering ribbons and laces that adorned the dresses could only be described as ridiculous. Nora was miserable with Mrs. Dobbs’ choices and was often ridiculed by her classmates. Under these circumstances what little remained of the headstrong, happy, child all but disappeared leaving a shy, unhappy girl who often felt clumsy and inadequate.

At the proper time, Nora was suitably presented to St. Louis society though she failed to attract even one serious suitor. Her classmates had been more successful and were married and starting families of their own. According to post-war St. Louis social standards, Nora was considered on the shelf.

By the time that she was of legal age, Nora was fully aware that she was considered an oddity. She took advantage of the fact that she could finally choose her clothing and the first thing she did was push Mrs. Dobbs’ unsuitable dresses to the back of her wardrobe.

To counteract the unbecoming gowns she’d been forced to wear as a wartime debutante, she now chose dark, inconspicuous, high collared dresses with not one frill on them. However, the dull, dark clothes she chose were not right either, leaving the impression that she was much older than her years.

Much to the embarrassment of her father she’d often been mistaken for the housekeeper.

Without a husband or children of her own to fill her time and ignored by her father, Nora was free to pursue her own interests. Since she adored children, she’d become involved in the care of the many orphans left by the war. While her clothes were appropriate for the work she did on behalf of the children, they did nothing to enhance her looks which caused Nora to decide that she was unattractive and there was nothing she could do about it.

Considering all of that, it made Mr. Faraday’s offer of marriage very puzzling.

Simon Faraday was introduced to St. Louis society just two months ago, sponsored jointly by Horace Trent and his good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan van Buren. As Simon had been introduced by two prominent families he was very well received. He was extremely attractive and rumor had it that he was also quite wealthy. According to the rumor, he had made his fortune ranching out in the little-known wilds of Texas. His western background only added to his romantic aura.

Simon immediately became immersed in St. Louis society and Nora caught frequent glimpses of him whirling around ballroom floors with one of the young, pretty debutantes. He had an attractive cleft in his chin that accentuated his smile and when he was dancing he looked down at his partner with striking dark eyes that told her she was the most fascinating woman in the world.

Of course, as her father was one of Simon’s sponsors Nora had been one of the first ladies he danced with. However, one dance was all she was afforded after which he dutifully escorted her back to her normal place on the sidelines with the rest of the ladies who had little to offer.

As her father’s protégée, Simon called often at their home. Nora assumed that his visits had to do with Horace’s business affairs, of which she knew nothing, so she didn't concern herself with idle speculation about the dashing Mr. Faraday and she very seldom saw him.

Consequently, she wasn’t surprised when one day Annie, the downstairs maid, breathlessly informed her that the handsome Mr. Faraday was paying a call on her father. Since Mr. Faraday’s visits weren’t unusual Nora thought nothing more of it.

It wasn’t until later in the day when her father summoned her to his study that she realized that Mr. Faraday was still with him. When she arrived she was taken aback by the smug look on her father’s face, while Simon stared at her boldly, a speculative look in his dark eyes. Although he was so attractive, the look on his face was alarming and Nora felt slightly repulsed.

After a few minutes of suffering the acute embarrassment of being scrutinized so closely, Simon turned to her father and nodded his head. She’ll do, he said curtly.

His words made no sense, but Nora was so relieved when her father excused her that she didn’t ask what he meant.

That had been days ago and she hadn’t realized the significance of Simon’s strange statement until Horace broke the news to her that she was to be married.

Horrified by the very idea of marrying a man she didn’t know, Nora appealed to her father. But why, Father? It makes no sense that such a charming, wealthy, attractive man should suddenly take notice of me, much less ask for my hand in marriage.

Why shouldn’t he take notice of you? Horace casually dismissed her concerns. You worry too much, Eleanor. This will be a good thing for all of us.

How Father? Desperation made her voice shrill. "How can marrying a man to whom I’ve hardly said a word be a good thing for all of us? I know you’ve taken him under your wing, but how could you do such a thing to me?"

Eleanor! Horace admonished. You’ve overstepped yourself. You act as though I’ve not done my duty by you.

Dismayed, Nora was at a loss for words. It occurred to her that she didn’t have to obey him; after all, she had been of age for quite a few years. However, it was the first time in her adult life that she'd dared to question her father’s decisions and she didn’t know how to respond, or if she even could. Feeling helpless, defeat settled ominously around her.

Unable to cope with her father’s withering disapproval Nora gathered her skirt with one hand and turned away. Reluctantly, she crossed the room to the door.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she turned and gazed solemnly at her father. I'm sorry, Father, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I don't feel right about this. Something is going on that I don’t understand and I can’t help but feel that something is wrong.

Smiling complacently now that she was submissive, Horace said, My dear, you’re talking nonsense when you should be thrilled. You’ve spent too many years devoting all of your time to those ragamuffins at the orphanage.

Nora was distracted by his mention of the orphans. I didn’t know you knew I worked with the orphanage.

Horace ignored her, as though to say that her work with the children was of no consequence. Don't you want to be married and have a family of your own? Did you expect to live in your father's house forever?

How could he ask that? Of course, she wanted to be married, what young woman didn't? It was her dearest dream that she would find the man she loved and give him children. Children that she would love and cherish in a way she hadn’t been since her mother died.

Turning away from her father she opened the door and was startled to see Annie standing there.

I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Nora, but your father has a visitor.

Who is it, Annie? Nora managed to ask.

It’s Mr. van Buren, Miss.

Jonathan van Buren was her father’s good friend and gratefully she noted that his back was turned toward her and she wouldn’t have to acknowledge him.

Since he would only be interested in seeing her father, she said, Please let Mr. Trent know he’s waiting, Annie.

Fighting back tears she hurriedly took the stairs up to her room. Once there, she threw herself across the bed.

Turning onto her back, Nora stared at the ceiling and let her thoughts drift to a mysterious stranger she’d encountered years ago when she was still young and impressionable. She had only met him briefly if you could even call it a meeting....

She was visiting the courthouse and had noticed a hulking, burly man cruelly grasping the arm of a young boy. The child had tried to pick his pocket and just one look at the boy told her he was desperate. Without thinking she put herself in between the man and the child, a potentially bad decision on her part because the man was furious. She should have been frightened but all she could think of at the time was rescuing the boy.

You need to mind your own business, lady, the man snarled at her. This kid tried to pick my pocket.

So what? she countered. Maybe he's hungry and needs a meal.

Why you nosy old maid, who do you think you’re dealing with? The man dropped the boy’s arm and, realizing that he was free, the boy slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

Now see what you’ve done! the man glared furiously at her, but she staunchly stood her ground.

Then, before he could do anything else, another man, the image of whom she still carried in her heart, stepped between them.

Maybe you should go somewhere to cool off, friend. You didn't lose your money so quit harassing the lady.

Angrily, the lout turned to face him then apparently thought better of it and wisely took a step back. Glaring at Nora one last time he stomped off.

When she turned to her rescuer to thank him, the words caught in her throat. He was tall, so tall that he towered over her. His brooding eyes stared down at her for several heartbreaking moments. There was such anguish on his face that she felt her eyes fill with tears. Then he was gone....

Suppressing a deep sigh, Nora knew that this was what her heart desired. This was the kind of man she wanted to father her children, the kind of man who ever so briefly could touch her heart in just the right way. His image had been burned in her soul that day and even though years had passed he was the standard that she judged all other men by.

Knowing that ever seeing him again was an impossible dream, Nora had long ago accepted the idea of settling down to a nice, quiet, comfortable life as a spinster where she could devote herself to her orphans. She would rather not marry at all if she had to settle for someone who didn’t make her feel as she had felt, even so briefly, that long-ago day.

Now her father expected her to marry a man she didn’t even know, much less love or respect.

Something deep inside told her that she would never be comfortable with Simon Faraday and more importantly, she felt that he could care less if she respected him. There was something about him that made her nervous, something about him that said he had no regard for anyone and the only feelings that mattered were his own.

Nora knew that even if her father did care enough to be concerned about her feelings, if he felt that it was a good move for his business it really wouldn’t make a bit of difference how she felt.

Feeling defeated and trapped, she finally let her tears fall.

CHAPTER TWO

Texas Hill Country , October 1876

The loud pounding woke him up.

Galen Hall rolled over in the bed and groaned softly as his body protested the stabbing pain behind his eyes. The pounding increased and the groan changed to a menacing curse. In his bleary state, it took a moment before he realized that the pounding wasn't all in his head. Some of it was coming from outside the door.

Some stupid jackass was pounding on the door.

Intent on stopping the noise, Galen attempted to push himself to a sitting position. He froze when his hand brushed against something warm and soft. He slowly turned his aching head to see what it was. Trying to focus, he squinted as his eyes traveled up a bare leg and then further. A woman's thigh. A woman’s naked thigh. For the moment he forgot about the pounding in his head.

Great God. Who in hell was this? She looked vaguely familiar, but his mind was too befuddled to recall details. What she was, was obvious, but had he brought her back to his room last night? Since she was in his bed, he must have. He groaned softly as bits and pieces of last night stirred his memory. It was late and he had been dead tired when he got to town and after leaving his horse at the livery, he went into the saloon for a beer. A woman had approached him, but all he could remember with any clarity was that she had green eyes.

While his fuzzy brain was trying to put all of this together, the pounding on the door started again, only louder than before.

Stop that goddamn racket! Galen roared and stumbled out of bed. Lurching toward the door he stubbed his toes against the bedpost. Now the pain in his foot was as intense as the pain in his head and he was in a vicious mood when he threw open the door.

Galen swore savagely when he saw who it was and glared at the man standing there. What the hell do you want?

Wade Phelps had been Galen’s superior officer during the war and he’d been assigned to Texas after the hostilities in the east had ceased. After a couple of years, he’d had enough of reconstruction government, resigned his commission, and returned to his home in Chicago.

During the war, the Pinkerton Agency had placed spies in the Confederate army, and though not generally known, most of these men were under Wade Phelps command. He was working for the Pinkertons again, only now in a civilian capacity.

Phelps was now in his early fifties and his face was lined with years of hard living. His hair had gone completely gray since the last time Galen saw him, though his steely gaze could still see right through a person.

Hello to you, too, Dr. Hall. He raked his eyes up and down Galen.

When he slipped his hand inside his coat, Galen tensed and his hand automatically moved to his hip. He grimaced at the futility of reaching for his gun when he was naked as a newborn baby.

Leaning nonchalantly against the door, he crossed his arms and glared insolently at the man in front of him.

His eyes gleaming with amusement, Phelps drew his hand out of his coat and flipped open a small leather case. Pulling out a cigarillo, he wedged it in the corner of his mouth and then scratched a match against the door jamb.

Galen turned his back to the man. "I thought I’d made it clear I was through with you and your bunch after the last