Desert Manna

By Karen Baney

Three different couples find God's provision, manna, in the Arizona desert. Set in Prescott, Arizona Territory from 1871-1873.

 

Beauty for Ashes

After Perry Quinn loses everything, he must start over, relying on the charity of his friends and the beautiful single mother Rebecca Elliot. He finds her companionship helps heal his broken heart.

A second chances, starting over romance.

 

Joy for Mourning

Grace Talbert loves helping others and struggles to find her purpose apart from the many suitors her father thrusts upon her. When the handsome, older Joshua Harrison returns to Prescott to raise his daughter, sparks fly.

A trapped together age gap romance.

 

Oaks of Justice

Attorney Melissa (Mel) Larson longs to make her mark on the world. When her life is in danger, she returns home to Prescott and is pitted against the handsome District Attorney, Alex Glassman. When they face off in the courtroom, Mel's low blow may have backfired.

An enemies to sweethearts romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desert Life Media
• Release date: May 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960217042

Karen Baney

Karen Baney is passionate about writing stories full of flawed characters. She enjoys weaving together stories of second chances, redemption, and overcoming personal trials. As a transplant to Arizona in the late 1990s, she loves researching the state's history and finding ways to seamlessly incorporate real history and real settings into her novels. In addition to writing and speaking, Karen works as a Software Development Manager for a Christian ministry. Her faith plays an important role both in her life and in her writing. Karen and her husband, Jim, make their home in Gilbert, Arizona, with their two dogs, Bella and Daisy. Both Jim and Karen are active at Rock Point Church in Queen Creek, Arizona.

Book preview

Desert Manna

The Complete Series

Karen Baney

Copyright © 2022 Karen Baney

Desert Manna: The Complete Series

By Karen Baney

Cover Design by Brian Ring Designs

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

All scripture quotations marked as NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.  Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

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

Publisher:

Desert Life Media, LLC

Gilbert, AZ 85295

www.karenbaney.com

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN-978-1-960217-04-2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Beauty for Ashes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Joy for Mourning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Oaks of Justice

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Dear Reader

About the Author

Books By This Author

Excerpt: The Reluctant Cattleman

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Beauty for Ashes

Desert Manna Book 1

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

because the Lord has anointed me

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim freedom for the captives

and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them

a crown of beauty instead of ashes,

the oil of joy instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,

a planting of the Lord

for the display of his splendor.

—Isaiah 61:1-3 NIV

Chapter 1

Quinn Ranch, Arizona Territory

September 12, 1871

I t’s been a good year, Lydia. His late wife’s name left Perry Quinn’s lips on a whisper. His heart squeezed tight as his thick, calloused fingers lightly touched the sepia image of her face.

This year would have been real good for you and Carl. His voice cracked. Even after seven years his grief bubbled up. Today, especially. Had Lydia survived they would have celebrated their tenth anniversary. Carl would have been seven.

But his beautiful Lydia had not survived. They only shared three brief years together before she was taken from him.

Boss? Jack called out from the entrance of Perry’s cabin, pulling him from his sorrow. He thought his ranch hands left hours ago.

Hank sent me in to check on you.

Perry’s lips turned up in a half smile. Leave it to his foreman to remember what today was.

I’m fine. I’ll head on out in a bit. Just want to make sure the stage horses are ready to go. They should be here in an hour.

Jack nodded and left.

Perry returned his gaze to Lydia’s likeness. Then he pressed his lips to it.

I miss you so much, but it’s time to let you and Carl go.

He hated to admit it, but it really was. Seven years was a long time to hold on to her memory. And Carl…

He snorted. What an imagination Perry had. When Lydia died early in her pregnancy, hemorrhaging for hours before he found her lifeless body, he had no idea if the baby was a boy or a girl. In his grief he needed to give the child an identity, a name, or something. He couldn’t think of his child as no one with no name. That was more than he could endure.

He decided to think of his child as a boy, for he longed to pass on the family name that meant so much to him after his grandpa. Grandpa Carl was the man who taught him ranching. He taught him to love God and love his neighbors. He taught him how to be a man. If his child had truly been born a son, Grandpa’s legacy would live on through him, so the most fitting name was Carl.

Perry’s eyes burned. He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep the tears away.

It was time to say goodbye, not just for another year, but for good. He needed to move on, to move forward, to stop torturing himself year after year with regret, guilt, and shame.

Building the ranch was Lydia’s dream as much as it was his. Ever since they fell in love back in Texas, they both talked about starting their own ranch in the young territory of Arizona. News reached them about vast tracks of land with natural grass for the cattle. In the valley southwest of Prescott, the climate was ideal. Mild temperatures from season to season. Seasonal rains.

They planned for the move and when they arrived, Perry set about building the very cabin where he stood. He promised Lydia a home and a place to raise their family. He wasted no time keeping his word.

Perry sighed. It was going to be harder to let go than he thought. But he promised God that he would, and he was a man of his word.

Gently, Perry lowered the gilded framed picture into the trunk at the foot of his bed. Then he locked the trunk with a brass key. He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the one-room cabin. The place he spent many a cold night snuggled close to his wife. The place where she breathed her final breath. The place he learned to call home even without her there. He pulled the door closed behind him, the act seeming so final, yet he wasn’t going anywhere. He would return at the end of his day.

Perry walked toward the barn, past the corral next to the barn and looked toward the mountain. The sky was brilliant blue, not a cloud to be seen. The tall pine trees lining the side of the mountain at the horizon bathed it in a dark green hue.

He stepped forward and with all his pent-up grief, he threw the brass key towards the mountain. She is in your care, Lord.

So many years in the past he believed God was asking him for one last step of faith. He never followed through. That was the year he could. He would.

It is finished.

A light peace settled over Perry’s heart as he turned toward the barn. His tawny mare, Misty, snorted as he neared her stall. He smiled. Lydia was the one who named the mare. When Perry fussed about the name being too girly, Lydia smiled and reminded him the horse was a girl.

He shook off the memory. How could he really let go if he kept reminiscing?

Be with you in a minute, Perry said to his mare. He moved toward the stables where the horses for the stage stood. He fed them and brushed them down. He turned them out in the corral and the stagecoach driver and shotgun rider would hitch them up and leave the spent horses in the corral.

Agreeing to be a stage waystation was one of his better decisions. The work to care for the horses was minimal, but the pay was good. Since his ranch was near the halfway mark between Wickenburg and Prescott, it was the ideal place to change out fresh horses before the steep climb up the mountain. Like many of the stations along the stage route, he provided water for passengers and a place for them to stretch their legs while the horses were swapped out.

Just a little work for a large reward.

The best part was that he could leave the water for passengers on a small table near the barn. No need for him or his ranch hands to be there for the stage’s arrival. Which was good. One never knew the precise time it would arrive.

Perry finished caring for the stage horses and led them to the corral. Then he returned and readied Misty for the afternoon. She snorted and nickered when he got close.

I know. It’s a late start today.

Misty raised then lowered her head. She nuzzled his outstretched hand.

Perry smiled as he brushed down the mare. The scents and smells of the barn seemed more noticeable today. The sweet aroma of hay. The pungent odor of manure. Then a smell that did not belong.

Smoke.

Perry darted out of the stall. His eyes scanned the hay storage loft above him. No signs of smoke there. Then he looked around the barn. Smoke was starting to thicken. He tied his bandanna over his nose and mouth. He moved toward his workbench. Fire crackled, eagerly eating up the wall of the barn where the tack hung. Within seconds, it spread to the first stall.

He had to get the stock out of there.

Perry ran toward the barn doors and pushed. Nothing. He shoved harder. Still they would not budge. He backed up a few paces then ran full force. His shoulder connected with the rough wood. The side of his face smacked hard against the door and searing pain shot through his shoulder. The doors would not budge.

Frantically, he looked around the barn. The high pitches from Misty heightened his own fear. He had to get them out of there. What was blocking the doors? Why would they not open?

An ax. He could chop an opening in the door.

Dropping to his knees, he crawled along the floor of the barn. Misty’s screams sent shivers down his back. He continued forward to his workbench as fast as he could. Once over the threshold, he stood and searched for the ax. Smoke obscured his vision. His hand moved quickly over each object hanging on the wall. A saw. A hammer. A leather strap. The ax!

He grabbed it and ran toward the doors. Standing squarely in front of the barn doors, he swung the ax. It connected with the door and a small chip flew over his shoulder. He swung again and again.

Misty’s frightful moans grew louder, overpowering the neighs of the other horses. A loud splintering sound came from behind him. As he swung the ax, his body slammed hard against the doors. The ax slipped from his hands. He groaned and fell to the ground, his head pounding.

Another insane howl came from Misty. Then the doors flew open, flapping on their hinges as Misty bolted from the barn.

Perry fought against the pain pulsing in his head. He stumbled to each stall as flames lapped at the ceiling. He let each of the remaining horses and the milk cow out of their stalls, giving them a swat on their hind quarters so they would run from the burning building.

The smoke was thick and black. His lungs burned. The rafters creaked. Perry ran toward the doors and escaped just as the ceiling collapsed. A whoosh of air and flame knocked him to the ground.

Flames chewed through his sleeve and bandanna, searing his flesh. The pain hit his gut, doubling him over. He dropped to his knees, unable to stifle a howl.

Water. He had to get water.

The heat was too much to endure. He stood and ran to the water trough outside of the demolished barn and jumped in. The flames died, but his flesh still stung.

Energy faded from his muscles. He heaved himself out of the trough landing on the hard dirt with a thud. Flames shot out overhead. He was still too close.

Lying on his belly, he pulled himself further away from the greedy fire and closer to the small cross near the cabin.

Am coming.

He stopped crawling as a cough consumed all the air around him. When the coughing subsided, he inched closer to the cross.

Lydia.

Just a few more feet.

He kicked his feet along the dusty path. One hand in front of the other digging into the dirt. He was almost there.

Perry squinted and reached out one more time. His hand touched the dry, splintering wood of the cross that marked Lydia’s grave.

The will to live slipped from him.

I’m coming home, darling.

The words left his lungs on a light breath. He closed his eyes, and his muscles went limp.

Chapter 2

J osiah. Rebecca Elliot stared down her son as he squirmed in his seat on the stage, bumping against her.

How much longer? he whined as he looked at her, dropping his shoulders.

She frowned. I assure you we will be there soon.

But that’s what you said an hour ago.

She sighed. She could not be too harsh on her son. After all, they had been on the journey for what seemed like an eternity to a nine-year-old’s way of thinking.

If Rebecca was honest with herself, she was weary of traveling too. The town of Prescott in the Arizona Territory was a great distance from their home in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. It had only been a month since they left, yet it seemed like years ago. Perhaps it was really their slow decline from wealth to poverty that caused her exhaustion.

She slid her arm around Josiah’s shoulders. We will be at Uncle Alexander’s by tonight. I promise.

Josiah ducked out from under her arm, something she did not wish to get used to, yet he seemed intent to push away her affection.

Sorry for your loss, ma’am, one darked-eyed cowboy said.

Thank you for your kind words, Rebecca replied as she stretched word kind until it almost broke.

She hated the mourning gown. It seemed quite silly to her to wear it. Any reason she had for sorrow was in her very distant past. Josiah’s father, her husband Morgan, passed on during the war between the states. Seven years ago. She was long past publicly mourning her beloved, and yet so far from letting go of his memory.

But Alexander was wise. He suggested she play up her state as a widow for the journey. How had he phrased it in his letter? Ah, yes. The wild men of the West still respect a widow, even if she must travel without an escort.

She held back a groan. The idea that she and her son were in a position to pay for an escort was laughable. The funds Alexander sent were not enough for such a luxury. She suspected he thought her more well off than she really was. Thankfully, Mother had left a meager sum to her after her passing in April. That money was long since gone. Rebecca purchased new shoes for Josiah’s constantly growing feet.

What’s Uncle Alex like?

Alexander, she corrected.

Alexander. She did not have to see her son’s face to know the tone of voice came with exaggerated eye rolling.

He is an attorney, Rebecca said trying to imagine what Alexander was like now. It had been over ten years since she had seen her older brother. Why he could be an entirely different person altogether than the one she remembered as a young woman.

I know that. Josiah huffed. Do you think he has a horse? Maybe he could teach me how to ride one. I always wanted to ride a horse.

I am unsure if he owns any animals.

Alexander’s letter gave her few clues as to his current circumstances. He stated that he had a home with plenty of room for her and Josiah and that he had done well enough as a solicitor to offer them a home with him indefinitely.

That was just like Alexander. Few words. Hard to read. Was he married? She assumed he was not since he made no mention of a wife. Did he live in town? She did not know but surmised he must given his line of work and that he said nothing about another leg of the journey once they reached Prescott.

He’s tall, she offered, remembering that he stood roughly a head’s height or more over her.

Mama! Josiah whined. That ain’t what I mean.

Josiah! she exclaimed. We do not say ‘ain’t’.

Josiah crossed his arms and slouched further down in his seat. His brows drew together.

I must apologize, Rebecca said glancing at the other two passengers. Where had he learned such unintelligent language? Mother would be scandalized.

The dark-eyed man replied, No need.

Josiah’s head started to bob with the sway of the stagecoach. Rebecca relaxed, hoping he would nap for a bit.

She should not be overly surprised by his use of the word ain’t. It was not as if he had grown up in the same station as she and Alexander had. Her childhood was filled with balls, gowns, and anything her heart desired. Well, any material thing her heart desired. Mother ensured her children wanted for nothing that was in her power to give. Father’s hemp plantation provided the funds for Mother’s extravagance.

Rebecca shook off the memories. She promised herself that she would leave the past in Hopkinsville. She and Josiah were headed West to a new home and a new life. They would not be able to enjoy it if she kept carrying the pain of the past with her.

She shifted in her seat as the stage hit a large bump in the road and nearly fell into the lap of the dark-eyed man across from her. He steadied her as she regained her composure.

Name’s Pike. Dixon Pike, he introduced himself.

Mrs. Morgan Elliot, she responded. Pleased to meet you. What takes you to Prescott?

I manage a freight company based outta there. J.W. Harrison & Co. Had a meeting with the owner down in Wickenburg.

I see.

He just secured a contract with the Army to carry freight all over the territory.

The well-dressed muttonchop adorned man next to Mr. Pike perked up at the mention of the Army. About time General Crook stocks up on provisions and starts an offensive against the Indians. He has been in the territory for three months now and has done nothing about the Apache problem.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. Apache problem? Just how much danger were they in?

Mr. Pike cleared his throat and ignored mister muttonchops. As I was saying, I’m headed back from a meeting.

Muttonchops settled down, though his eyebrows scrunched so deeply that they almost looked like one long squiggly line.

We should be at Quinn’s ranch soon, Mr. Pike said as Josiah woke and started shifting in his seat. Give the boy a chance to stretch his legs.

Is Mr. Quinn a real-life cowboy? Josiah asked as he lifted the corner of the tarp covering the window next to him.

Mr. Pike laughed and said to Josiah, Yes, Perry Quinn is a real-life cowboy and rancher. I’m sure he’d be the first to tell you to just call him Perry.

I— Rebecca started.

Ma’am, Mr. Pike interrupted. You’ll find folks are much less formal in the West.

Rebecca pursed her lips together and took a deep breath. Josiah dropped the window covering back in place. The smell of smoke floated into her lungs. Her heart raced and she clenched her hands together. Her eyes widened as she turned her attention to Mr. Pike and mouthed the word smoke.

Mr. Pike glanced at her son who was looking out the window again and nodded.

She could feel her throat tighten as the stage slowed. Her breaths grew shallow.

Mama?

She forced a smile to her face. I am fine.

Only she was not. The images that filled her nightmares tried to force their way to her mind. Morgan’s lifeless charred body—one of the many victims of Sherman’s fiery march to the sea.

The stage jerked to a sudden stop, bringing Rebecca’s thoughts back to the present. The smell of smoke grew stronger. She turned her head toward Josiah, and he quickly dropped the window covering. His eyes grew wide, and the color drained from his normally rosy cheeks.

What is it? she whispered.

A knock sounded on the stage door. The driver opened it a crack and motioned for Mr. Pike to come out. Rebecca froze. Should they all exit?

Mr. Pike motioned his hand downward, letting her know she should stay seated. She could barely make out what the driver said to Mr. Pike.

Fire.

Her worst nightmare.

Barn gone.

Look around.

Make sure… Safe.

Mr. Pike poked his head in. Stay here, he said making eye contact with each passenger. As his eyes landed on Josiah, he added, Listen to your mother. I’ll be back in a few minutes once we’ve taken stock of the situation.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Josiah pushed into her side and she rested her arm on his shoulders. For once her ever-inquisitive son was quieter than the wind.

Rebecca took long slow breaths. In. Out. In. Out. She needed to calm down so her son would not be frightened more than he already was.

Muttonchops had not moved since Mr. Pike left. She noticed his breathing was deliberate too.

A quick rap on the door. She jumped and her calm vanished until her eyes connected with Mr. Pike’s.

Come on out folks.

She nudged Josiah toward the door into Mr. Pike’s waiting arms. Once her son’s feet were on the ground, she gave her hand to Mr. Pike to steady her very shaky legs.

Muttonchops was the last to egress.

Mr. Pike placed a hand on Josiah’s shoulder while he leaned closer to muttonchops and Rebecca. He kept his voice low.

Looks like Perry’s barn burned to the ground. The shotgun rider and driver are trying to find the horses. I found Perry over that way. He nodded toward the remains of a cabin, still smoldering. Looks in a bad way.

Rebecca’s breath caught.

Mr.?

Stanfield, muttonchops replied.

Mr. Stanfield, can you watch the boy? I need Mrs. Elliot’s help over there.

Mr. Stanfield nodded and glanced down at her son. Young man, would you walk with me? He shook his walking stick. I could use a little extra support while I stretch my legs.

Josiah groaned and Rebecca lowered her head, directing her gaze toward him. He quickly straightened and offered Mr. Stanfield his arm.

She gave Mr. Stanfield a small smile of gratitude.

This way, Mr. Pike said.

As they neared the cabin, he slowed. I must warn you, he’s alive, but barely.

Rebecca rounded the corner, and her legs grew weak. Morgan! Her heart screamed as she stumbled forward. Mr. Pike steadied her.

She closed her eyes. This was not Morgan. The poor charred man was Perry Quinn. A rancher. A man in desperate need of help. Just like those poor soldiers she helped during the war. Just like Morgan when someone tried to nurse him back to health.

Fear. Doubt. Insecurity. Fear.

She straightened her back and lifted her chin. She would do what she could to help the poor man.

Rebecca kneeled beside Perry’s still body. Can you find some water?

Mr. Pike nodded and left her alone.

Well, Perry, she whispered, unaware of how quickly she left her own standard of formality behind. Looks like you could use some help.

She removed her black lace gloves and tucked them in her skirt’s waist band. She held her hand near his nose and felt the tickle of a faint breath on her skin. You are still breathing, Perry.

Rebecca once thought it odd to speak to the unconscious, but during the war one of the nurses said that it really made a difference to the ill. So, she developed the habit. She rarely knew what to say, so she tried to keep her words positive and encouraging.

Stay with me, Perry.

Her hands touched his arms looking for any sign of more severe injury. Then his legs. Then his chest.

She swallowed hard. His muscles, though hidden beneath his tattered shirt, felt strong. She pressed on his chest, his abdomen. Warmth rushed to her cheeks. She had done the same examination hundreds of times during the war. What was wrong with her.

No injuries there.

Here’s the water.

Rebecca flinched at the sound of Mr. Pike’s words.

As best I can tell, his only injuries are from the fire. She ought to check his head. Her fingers slowed as she discovered a large lump on the back of his head.

She lifted her skirt to tear off a piece of her petticoat. He must have hit his head.

Rebecca dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed it on his face until she came to the left side of his face. His flesh was red and bubbled. Best leave that for a doctor.

Do you think we can move him? Mr. Pike asked.

Rebecca’s eyes widened and she shrugged. What choice do we have?

Mr. Pike left her there for a few minutes and returned with the stage driver. Can you help me carry him?

The stage driver nodded and grabbed Perry’s legs while Mr. Pike lifted Perry by looping his arms through the still man’s. Rebecca stood, her eyes not leaving Perry’s body while the pair of men stumbled over the uneven ground until they reached the stage.

Is he dead? Josiah asked ducking under her arm.

No, sugar. She could not voice anything more promising than that.

Let’s get him in the stage, the driver said.

Rebecca entered first, then Mr. Pike and the driver managed to situate Perry on her lap and the seat next to her. Mr. Pike patted the seat next to him.

Josiah, sit next to Mr. Pike.

Muttonchops, —er, Mr. Stanfield sat on Josiah’s other side. The stage driver closed the door and within minutes the stage lurched forward.

Chapter 3

As the minutes ticked by, Rebecca worried over Perry’s still form. He seemed too still, too quiet. Lord, please don’t let this poor man die.

She looked across to her son. His eyes were closed, and his body swayed with the movement of the stage.

How’s your patient? Mr. Pike asked.

She rested her hand on his chest. It moved up and down ever so slightly. Still breathing.

Mr. Stanfield asked, What of Quinn’s ranch hands?

Mr. Pike shook his head. All we found were a few chickens running around. Barn was completely destroyed. No horses. Or… Anyone save Perry.

How… How many men did he have? Rebecca whispered.

Three.

She lowered her head. She understood what Mr. Pike did not say.

Apache, I’m telling you. It had to be Apache, Mr. Stanfield said. Maybe this will spur Crook to action. People of this territory will never feel safe with these attacks.

Mr. Pike shook his head. Could’ve been Mexican raiders or even a jealous neighbor.

Mr. Stanfield harrumphed.

Rebecca ran her fingers through Perry’s hair to keep it from flopping on his face. Dark brown hair. Squared jawline. Eerily similar to Morgan.

Does he have any family? she mused aloud.

Don’t know, Mr. Pike answered. Saw a cross near where we found him. I’m guessing his wife’s marker.

A tear slid down Rebecca’s cheek. She knew nothing about this man, but she knew everything about loss. Morgan. Her brother Franklin. Father. Mother. All she had left was Alexander and Josiah.

The stage jolted over a rock and Perry’s body started to slide. Mr. Pike reached out to steady him, waking Josiah in the process. Perry’s legs started kicking. His arms shook. His head moved back and forth. His body convulsed.

Rebecca held her breath. Josiah whimpered like a frightened animal. She wished she could comfort him, but the weight of Perry’s trembling body kept her in her seat.

It is alright, she said in soothing tones as her eyes locked with Josiah’s, though the words were as much for herself as for her son.

Then suddenly Perry’s body stilled. She rested her hand on his chest again. Nothing. Nothing.

Her eyes darted to Mr. Pike’s dark ones as she held her breath.

Then Perry’s chest moved her hand up and then down.

She let out a slow long breath as her shoulders slumped.

Hang in there, Perry. Her voice was soft as tears streamed down her cheeks. She took his right hand and laced her fingers with his, hoping the touch would calm him in his unconscious state.

She glanced over to Josiah who had fallen asleep again. The long journey was good for one thing.

Rebecca stroked her thumb across Perry’s hand as she wondered what would happen to him. Would he recover? If he did what would he do? It sounded like he had nothing left on his ranch and no family. Who would care for him and nurse him back to health?

Had someone tried to nurse Morgan back to health?

Her heart twisted and jumped and beat against her chest. How she missed him. Why had he left her to go off and fight in that war? Were his high ideals worth the cost?

Rebecca remembered when he told her he was leaving.

We must fight for our way of life, he said. The North cannot impose its ideals on us. They don’t understand the economic impact of what they want to do.

Rebecca frowned. Did Franklin drag you into this?

Morgan laughed. Why do you suppose my friend and your brother somehow cajoled me into this? Do I not have my own principles in which I feel strongly?

She flopped down in a chair. I don’t want you to go.

Morgan kneeled in front of the chair and took her hand in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. I don’t want to leave you either, Bec. You are my heart and my very soul.

Then don’t go!

I must. If we do not stand up for what we believe is right, then the North will run our lives and destroy our livelihood. I cannot raise our children with any integrity if I do not fight for our ideals.

We don’t have any children.

Bec, you are missing my point.

She looked away but he cradled the side of her face in his hand and turned it to meet his gaze. I will miss you. I already do. You know I have loved you for a very long time.

She nodded. She knew their love had grown slowly over a lifetime. He was Franklin’s closest friend and spent many days and evenings in their home. What started as teasing his friend’s younger sister turned into interest and then pure, loyal, enduring love.

They married only a few years ago. She had not even bore him a child. She was not ready for him to leave her side, her daily life.

He drew her closer until his lips engulfed hers. She would never tire of his kisses, his touch, or his love.

That was the night Josiah was conceived. Her son who never met his father.

The next day, Morgan and Franklin went off to war and her life was never the same again.

Chapter 4

M rs. Elliot.

Mama.

Rebecca opened her eyes. Her neck throbbed and her hand was stiff.

Just a few more minutes and we’ll be in Prescott, Mr. Pike said.

She straightened in her seat and looked down to see Perry’s body still in her lap. She let go of his hand.

Did he have any more… tremors? she asked.

Mr. Pike shook his head. Been sleeping as peacefully as you were for the last few miles.

Her face warmed. Oh, good.

She placed her hand on his chest and it rose and fell in steady rhythm. Still alive, Perry. Stay strong.

Can I look out the window? Josiah asked as he crawled over Mr. Pike. Mr. Pike held the tarp up.

Wow! It’s a real western town! Josiah exclaimed. There’s a cowboy! And another.

Rebecca laughed. He thought every man was a cowboy. She looked out the window and decided the shopkeeper walking down the boardwalk was the most likely cowboy in her son’s eyes.

Rebecca! A familiar voice yelled as the wagon skidded to a harsh stop. Rebecca!

Heated words were exchanged outside the coach. Where have you been?

She heard the stage driver speaking to the angry man, likely Alexander, explaining the situation.

Josiah leaped out of the stage.

Josiah, wait! she called after him.

Here, let me help.

Mr. Pike lifted Perry’s body so Rebecca could exit the stage. Before she looked for her son, she asked Mr. Pike, Where is the doctor? Can you manage?

Yes, ma’am, we’ll be sure he makes it to the doctor. It’s just a few buildings down the street from here. The one with the white placard.

She spotted it and was satisfied the men would be able to manage.

Mama! This is Uncle Alexander, Josiah said with a tall man in tow.

Rebecca had forgotten much about Alexander. He was tall, that much she remembered, but his face—gone was the youthful exuberance she remembered. His face was full, that of a mature man. He wore a full, neatly combed beard that was so long it covered the top of his shirt collar. His long mustache was waxed on the ends and looked like little wings above his top lip. His shoulders were broader and the worry on his face, well, that was not something she had seen before.

Are you alright? he asked.

She frowned. Not even a hint of his southern heritage was evident in his words. He sounded like the northerner their father accused him of becoming.

We are fine.

You were supposed to be here hours ago. Look at you. Is that soot on your face? Your hands? He leaned forward like a mountain lion ready to pounce on his prey.

We are fine.

Alexander was not listening. He turned back toward the stage driver and spoke rather assertively, I demand you compensate my sister for her passage today. Clearly you did not do your upmost to protect her and her son!

Look, Mister—

Glassman. Solicitor Alexander Glassman.

Look, Glassman, I already told you, our waystation manager, a rancher, ran into trouble. Our horses were gone, and we had to rest the current team before headin’ up the mountain. The rancher also needed tending to.

He nearly died! Josiah added.

Shhhsh! Rebecca scolded.

As you can see, your sister and nephew are fine, the stage driver added.

Rebecca glanced toward the doctor’s office and watched as Mr. Pike and the shotgun rider carried Perry inside. Lord, heal him and surround him with those who will help him and care for him.

She is not fine, Alexander growled.

She turned her attention toward Alexander. His face was red. His eyes shot fire towards the driver. Then they both looked at her. Thankfully, Mr. Stanfield chose that moment to alight from the stage, blocking their view of her.

Alexander, leave the man alone so he can retrieve our things. Then we can be on our way. It has been a long ride and Josiah and I are eager to see our new home.

Alexander grunted and stepped out of the way. Come.

But our things—

My man, Zhao will bring them. He let out a slow breath and held out his arm for her.

Come, Josiah, she said as she looped her hand in the crook of Alexander’s arm.

They walked several paces in silence. That side of him was new to her and she was not sure she liked it. The harsh words and short temper were far too reminiscent of Father.

I must apologize, Alexander said as they turned the corner down a street lined with shops and businesses. I have been worried the entire month and felt ashamed that I had not made the trip out to escort you here.

Rebecca’s tension melted away. Thank you for your concern. As you can see, we are unharmed, though quite tired.

He squeezed her hand and they walked in silence for several more blocks.

Josiah seemed as taken with the town as she was. He exclaimed about several more cowboys and stopped in front of a few shop windows until she tugged on his arm.

There were many rough wooden buildings and a few brick ones. Signs above the doors or displays in the window gave hints about each building’s purpose. A tailor displayed a fine suit from the same material as the suit Alexander wore. In the mercantile window, there was a lovely display of housewares, fabrics, and a pair of polished black boots that captured Josiah’s attention for a few seconds. Books lined a small table in front of the next building.

Rebecca slowed. The most stunning deep plum gown edged in black lace at the sleeves and neckline stood in the window capturing her imagination. A matching parasol leaned against the tapered skirt of the gown.

I see you noticed the dressmaker’s shop, Alexander teased. You always were one to admire beautiful things.

Rebecca picked up the pace. I have no place for such things now.

Nonsense.

She let the comment go as she studied his profile. He was only two years her senior and he wore his thirty years well. He had the slightest hint of lines near his eyes. His gold eyes reminded her of Mother’s. His posture was rigid, and his head held high. The air of cockiness she remembered seemed more tempered now. His clothes were fine, the mark of a wealthy man. His walking stick was a rich ebony color with an eagle’s head carving at the top made from ivory. She could only imagine how many years she would have to work to afford such a fine luxury.

Do you like the dress? he asked.

Very much, she admitted, knowing full well she would never own anything so beautiful again.

Then tomorrow, you should ask Sophie about it.

Sophie?

Yes, Sophie Atwood, she is the proprietress. I have already set up an account with her so you can purchase anything you need and a few things you just want, like that dress.

Uh. Rebecca was at a loss for words. She had no need for such a fancy dress, but did she want it? She would love to wear it. How long had it been since she wore something that made her feel feminine and beautiful?

I also have accounts with the tailor, though I imagine anything Josiah needs for school would be available at the mercantile. If you wish him to be dressed more for his station, then get him something at the tailor.

She stopped and turned toward Alexander. She opened and closed her mouth several times.

Alexander raised one eyebrow. What?

I, uh, I. Words. Where was her elegant southern belle sweetness? We cannot accept your charity.

Alexander laughed. His head tilted back as his eyes closed. He shook his head all the while still laughing. You are family. You are my responsibility now. Please know that I will not leave you looking like paupers.

He pointed to Josiah’s frayed hems that were much too high and showing off his scrawny ankles.

Rebecca’s face heated. I suppose he is due for some new trousers, she conceded.

There it is. Alexander pointed toward his home.

Josiah sprinted ahead as Rebecca studied the building. It looked like a miniature of Maple Grove Manor, their childhood home, right down to the white columns lining the sweeping porch. Maple Grove Manor was not made of brick like his house was, but despite the different material the lines of the house most definitely felt familiar, like home.

Her breath caught and she sniffed. Silly. She would not cry over a house.

Go on in, Josiah, he called out. We’ll be in shortly.

Are you sure you are well? he asked her as he led her up the stairs of the porch to a wooden bench swing.

The genuine concern in his voice nearly shattered her calm. It had been so very long since she was well. Life. Death. Trial after trial after trial. It had been too much.

She retrieved her handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed the corner of her eyes. In the distance she could hear Josiah’s fascination with some aspect of the rooms he ran through.

I am well, now that we are here. The tales of my life can wait for another time.

You are home now.

Yes, and what a fine home. Why it looks so much like Maple Grove Manor.

Alexander laughed. "Yes, that was my intent. Right down to the white painted shutters flanking all the windows. The interior is more suited to life in the territories than that of a plantation, but you will find many touches of elegance like what you are accustomed to."

Rebecca snorted. It’s been many years since I have lived in any elegance.

Alexander frowned. What do you mean? Did Maple Grove fall into disrepair?

We will speak of it later, she said. I am eager to freshen up. Besides, Josiah and I have missed a meal or two today. I am certain he is ravenous, though I am proud of him for not complaining.

She stepped over the threshold and her breath caught.

It’s lovely.

Dark stained wood floors gave the interior an ornate, yet masculine appearance. The staircase to the left was the same dark wood. To the right, dark wood doors hid what she supposed was his study. Before them was a sophisticated arrangement of chairs and settees, which she decided was the parlor. Behind one set of chairs, a long hallway beckoned her to explore.

Mama, it’s huge! Josiah exclaimed, skidding to a stop next to her.

Let me show you to your rooms.

Alexander led the pair up the gleaming polished staircase. At the top, a hallway led to several rooms.

Mine is at the end. This, he said opening the first door on the left, Is for Josiah.

My very own room? Look, Mama, my own bed! Josiah exclaimed as he dove onto the bed.

She glanced at Alexander and noticed a fleeting frown. Between that frown and some of his earlier comments about elegance and wealth, she suspected he might not be fully aware of the circumstance from which he rescued them.

And this, he said as he opened the second door on the right, is for you, sister. I thought you might like a view of the street. And once you settle in, please feel free to redecorate. I did my best, but alas, I am a bachelor.

She smiled and stepped into the room.

I will leave you both to freshen up. Zhao should be here shortly with your things. When you are ready, head down the stairs and back through the hall until you find the dining room. Zhao will warm some supper for us.

Rebecca took a few moments to take in the size of the room. Why it was bigger than the single room she shared with Mother and Josiah. She found herself agreeing with her son—a room of her very own, a bed of her very own.

The walls were adorned with a rose patterned wallpaper. A lamp sat on the table beside the bed flooding the room with light. The bed sat immediately next to the doorway. It was as large as her parents’ bed back at the plantation. A porcelain pitcher and bowl sat on top of a carved walnut dresser. Large glass-paned windows covered the wall across from the bed. Underneath the windows was a cushioned seat upholstered in white fabric with more pink roses. On the wall opposite the entrance, there was another dark wood door. She crossed the room and opened it.

A closet?

A hanging closet. The last one she had was when she left the plantation years ago. A smile stretched across her face. She would not change a thing about the room.

She closed the closet door and went to the dresser, pouring some water in the basin. She splashed her face and blotted it dry, leaving some soot streaks on the white cloth.

She thought about Perry. Her heart ached for him. She hoped he would survive and that she might formally meet him one day.

Rebecca shook off the thoughts as Josiah burst into the